Changes
by reading
Summary: Sam has an unexpected encounter that has some interesting consequences. Strangers and Angels universe.
1. Chapter 1

_Changes_

_I think that this is properly labeled "crack." If I understand the definition correctly._

_Um. So, here you go… _

_xxxx_

"Dean!"

In the black of the cave, Sam's voice seemed to come from everywhere, high-pitched and frightened.

"Sammy!"

"Dean!"

Dean could hear the relief in the word, and he stopped, trying to figure out where his brother was.

"Where are you?" he called.

"I… I don't know. I fell." Wavering, though still loud enough for Dean to hear.

"Are you hurt?" Dean demanded, not liking the tone he heard, flashlight in constant motion as he started off in the direction of Sam's voice.

"My arm." Dean clenched his teeth at the pain in Sam's voice. "I fell wrong, Dean. I'm sorry." There was a slight sob at the end and the apology itself was wrong. Dean faltered.

"Dad's gonna be mad," drifted miserably towards him. Dean felt his heart thump hard once in his chest.

"Sammy…" He cleared his throat. "Sammy, did you hit your head when you fell?" He stopped again waiting for the answer, eyes closed, ears straining.

"I don't know. I don't think so."

To his right. Dean shifted the duffel bag over his shoulder.

"Does your head hurt? Did you lose consciousness?" Dean asked, moving carefully along the passage.

There was a pause.

"Yeah, my head hurts really bad." The slightly wondering sound of the admission, made Sam sound ridiculously young. "I… I kind of remember waking up, I think." Sam's voice was soft and uncertain; Dean had only just heard him.

"You gotta speak up, kiddo, if I'm going to find you," he said. "Is your vision blurry? Are you having a hard time seeing?"

There was a shorter silence this time.

"It's dark," was the answer. In hindsight, the pause rang with _duh_. "I can't see anything."

Dean grinned in spite of himself. "Right." He took a couple more steps in the direction of Sam's voice. "Did you drop your flashlight?"

He was close enough to hear the sound of scrabbling ahead of him, and he quickened his pace.

"Yeah, I can't… Hey! I see your light!" Sam cried.

"Where is it in relation to where you are?"

"Above me! I see… Here's my flashlight!"

Ahead of him, Dean saw a beam of light appear suddenly from the floor, illuminating the low ceiling of the cave.

"Dude, I see it!" Dean crossed the space in just a few long strides, dropping carefully to his knees at the edge of the precipice.

He shone his light down into the darkness and breathed a sigh of relief as Sam's dark head turned up toward him.

At the same moment, a shaft of light struck Dean in the face, and he watched, astonished, as the face below blinked up at him.

_What the hell?_

"Who are you?" The young voice cracked in confusion. "Where's my brother?"

Dean could only stare at the figure below him.

It was Sam. God, he recognized it as Sam. But it wasn't Sam. It was a child.

The boy started to back away staggering slightly, tripping over the shoes and jeans that no longer fit him, confusion and fear blossoming on the young face as he looked down at himself. He looked back up at Dean. The question clear in his eyes. _What happened to my clothes?_

"Dean!" he called. The beam of light bobbed up and down erratically as Sam tried to hold it steady, clutching his left arm to his chest. Dean could see a trickle of blood running from the boy's hairline and a darkening bruise on his cheek.

"Dean!" Sam yelled again, panic in his voice.

"Sam!" Dean cracked it out, made it an order.

Sam stopped. His breathing was uneven, and Dean could tell that all the kid wanted to do was run.

"Sam, listen to me." Dean kept his voice low and steady, brain abruptly catching up. _Don't spook him._

"Listen to me, OK? Just listen."

Sam had started to inch away, eyes flicking desperately around him, looking for a way out.

"I'm Dean."

That stopped the boy. Sam blinked owlishly up at Dean, eyes almost black against the whiteness of his face.

"You're not Dean," he said. As if that was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard in his life.

"I am. I'm Dean."

"No, you're not." Sam said it without any doubt, but he was looking at Dean curiously, surprise seeming to have overshadowed panic for the moment. The kid didn't seem quite certain how to react to such a bald-faced lie.

"I'm not a baby," the boy said abruptly, brow wrinkling in a combination of affront and confusion. "I know you're not my brother."

Dean could see the lines of pain on Sam's face, and the way the child was wobbling slightly as he cradled his arm was beginning to concern Dean. Maybe this was a battle better fought elsewhere.

"Of course you do," Dean agreed, changing tack. "I know you're not a baby, Sammy. How old are you? Nine?"

Sam nodded hesitantly.

"So your brother's, what, thirteen?"

"Fourteen," Sam said.

Dean nodded.

"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you I was Dean. I wasn't thinking—I just wanted to make you feel safe and get you out of here."

Dean paused. He could see Sam was wavering.

"I'm a friend of your dad's, OK?" Dean swallowed back the grief at lying to Sam about this, about feeding his belief that Dad was still alive. "We've been looking for you."

"Is Dean OK?" he asked.

"Yeah, he's fine," Dean said.

"Why isn't he here, then? Where's my Dad?"

Fear and pain had worked tears into Sam's questions, and Dean gritted his teeth against the desolation in the little boy's voice.

"They're just looking for you in another part of the caves, Sammy," Dean said softly. "They'll be there as soon as we get you out of here."

Sam hesitated.

"I promise, Sam." Dean said soothingly. "I promise I'm here to help you, OK? Your dad and your brother are out of their minds they're so worried about you. We don't want to keep them waiting, do we?"

In a daze, Sam shook his head slowly.

"That's my boy," Dean said. He eased toward the edge of cliff Sam had gone over, flashlight searching for a way down. He found one to his left and gingerly started toward his brother.

When he got to the bottom, he turned to Sam, who had sunk to the ground, and was huddled against the cave wall, swallowed up by a t-shirt that had been too snug just that morning.

"Hey, buddy," Dean said gently.

Sam was still eyeing him warily, but he tolerated Dean's touch. Dean put a hand against the boy's cheek and kept his voice low and calm through a running commentary of his exam. Sam had gasped twice—one when Dean had moved his arm, the other when he'd run careful hands over Sam's ribs.

When he finished, Dean cupped Sam's chin quickly with his palm.

"You really did a number on yourself here, kiddo," he said teasingly. Sam's lips curved up tiredly. "Well, your arm's not broken. But I think you've sprained your wrist."

Sam gave a little sigh, curling somewhat protectively around his hand. "'K," he sniffed.

Dean sat back on his haunches and considered his options. The fact that Sam's wrist was sprained rather than broken meant they could avoid a trip to the hospital. And that gave Dean some time to figure out what to do with this little Sam.

Digging through the old army duffel, Dean found a bottle of water that he uncapped and gave to Sam. Next he pulled off his outer shirt and rigged a makeshift sling for Sam's arm, binding it as tightly as he could to the boy's narrow chest. The kid was so _small_.

"Alright, buddy. You ready to get out of here?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded, looking up toward where he'd fallen from.

"How?" he questioned, peering apprehensively at Dean.

Dean considered. He didn't think there was any way Sam could climb back up the path that Dean had taken down. Especially not with the enormous clothes that were covering him.

"I think we're going to have to do something about what you're wearing," Dean said speculatively.

Sam looked at him nervously.

"You can't walk in those shoes or those pants, buddy. I think you're going to have to take them off." Sam clutched at the waist of his jeans, eyes wide.

Dean made his voice as gentle as he could. "You'll have your t-shirt, kiddo, OK? You won't be naked."

Sam bit his lip. "I think my underpants are too big," he whispered.

Dean wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. "It won't matter, Sammy. The t-shirt will keep you covered."

Nodding, still uncertain, Sam shucked off everything that didn't fit, leaning slightly against Dean as he stepped out of his shoes. Dean gathered the clothes up and put them in the bag. Sam would need his jeans when he got big again.

Dean hoisted the canvas bag that held their supplies over one shoulder. He looked at their exit route again and then down at Sam, swimming in the shirt, unsteady where he stood. Maybe expecting the kid to make the climb was too much. Maybe better just to carry him.

Rather than put his decision to a vote, Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam and with a grin, put a hand behind Sam's knees and his arm around Sam's back, picking him up easily.

Sam stiffened uncomfortably as he was lifted in Dean's arms, but Dean pretended not to notice, flipping his flashlight into Sam's lap.

"Light our way, OK, Sam?" He jerked his head in the direction of the precarious path down to Sam that he'd taken.

Sam fumbled with the switch, but got it on, swinging the beam as directed. He raised his head trying to see where they were going.

"Can we get up there?" he asked quietly.

"Course we can," Dean said. He eyed their route critically. He shifted his load, looking down at Sam. "Ready?"

Sam nodded. "Ready."

It was not an easy climb. By the time they reached the top, Dean was winded—not just from the exertion of the climb itself, but from the added responsibility of carrying a burden he couldn't drop. He'd almost gone down once, terror spiking through him as he felt his feet slip on the loose shale, realizing in a flash how catastrophic a fall would be. When the solidness of Dean suddenly rocked under him, Sam gasped, turning into Dean's chest, one thin arm wrapping desperately around his brother's neck. Heart pounding, Dean had finally managed to get his feet back under him.

"We're OK," he'd said shakily, trying not to let Sam know how close a call they'd had. Sam had nodded into Dean's shoulder, the hammering in Dean's chest giving the truth away.

Dean set Sam down once they were on even ground, and Sam leaned heavily against his brother briefly before he pushed off.

"You got it?" Dean asked. He wasn't sure about the floor of the cave on Sam's bare feet.

"Yeah."

"Good." Dean took the flashlight from Sam and pointed it down the passageway. "This way."

xxxx

_So. You can blame Janissa11 and her wonderful, amazing __Under a Haystack__ series for this bit of insanity. I fell absolutely in love with her little Dean and wanted Jo to meet him. :) But, of course, that couldn't happen, because I could never write a little Dean as awesome as hers. Sniff. But that did get me thinking about Jo meeting one of the boys as a child. Which left poor Sam. Here was the beginning. More to follow…_

xxxx


	2. Chapter 2

_Changes__, ch. 2_

It was almost dark when they got to the entrance of the cave, the temperature dropping as the sun had gone down. Dean shivered in his t-shirt and looked at Sam who faltered next to him. For once, Dean hadn't brought his jacket, but he dug back in the duffle and pulled out the over-shirt Sam had been wearing. He put it around Sam's shoulders and worked the boy's good arm into it, buttoning it around the arm in the sling.

"The car's about a mile from here," Dean said tiredly. He wondered again about Sam's feet. "Can you walk, buddy? Or do you need me to carry you?"

Sam's shoulders sagged for a moment before Dean saw them square.

"I'm OK," the boy said.

For a short while, Sam trudged silently beside Dean.

After a couple of yards, Sam asked, "Is that where my dad is?" There was exhaustion in every word. Sam's eyes were on the ground watching his feet plod along.

"No," Dean said. "We're going to, uh, meet him."

Sam didn't answer, just nodded, surprising Dean. He'd thought Sam would be suspicious, but evidently it just wasn't in the kid right then.

It wasn't too long before Sam stumbled, biting back a cry, and Dean shifted the duffle from his shoulder to his hand, crouching down to give Sam a ride on his back.

When they got to the car, Dean let Sam slide down, and the boy's eyes widened at the sight of the Impala waiting for them.

"Daddy?"

There was such hope in the word, giving Sam a last burst of energy as he stumbled forward.

"No, Sammy," Dean said, wondering how to explain the presence of the Impala without their father. "Dad… your dad's not here. Remember? I told you that."

Sam stopped, bewildered eyes coming around to Dean.

"But that's his car," he said, uncomprehending. "How can you have his car?" The fear was creeping back into his voice and face. "Where's my dad?"

Dean took a quick step forward, closing the few feet between them in a rush as he'd seen the shift of Sam's eyes, knowing the kid was about to rabbit.

"Sammy," he said firmly, his fingers closing gently around the boy's bicep.

But Sam jerked violently, and Dean clamped down hard, struggling to keep a hold on the slender arm as Sam went first rigid and then kinetic.

"No," Sam gasped. And then screamed, "No! Daddy! Daddy!" Shrill and frightened, hysteria climbing. "Dean!"

Sam fought like a wildcat, and it was all Dean could do not to drop the writhing, kicking bundle of nails and teeth and fragile bones and tender skin.

He clenched his jaw against the feel of teeth on his forearm and then his hand; winced as small feet made contact with his kneecaps and, once, his groin. He saw stars when Sam's head came up under his chin, shutting his mouth with a painful click.

Finally, Dean got his little brother's arms pinned, and panting heavily, ground out, "I swear to God, kid, if you kick me in the balls one more time..." He tightened his arms sharply, hoping that a little emphasis would get his point across.

Sam cried out and stilled, the increased pressure hurting his injured arm and ribs. Dean gritted his teeth in response, but didn't ease his grip until the thrashing stopped completely. Sam felt icy in Dean's arms and Dean could feel the panicked beat of his little brother's heart against his own chest—fast and light and terrified.

"Listen, I'm not going to hurt you, Sammy, OK?" He tried to make his voice as soothing and calm as he could. "But something's happened and…"

The small body that had been held stiff against Dean's went slack.

"What happened? Are they OK? Are they hurt?" He twisted, trying to look into Dean's face.

Dean hesitated.

"Nothing like that, Sam, OK? It's nothing like… It's…" Dean trailed off, at a complete loss.

He tried again. "Something's happened, but I can't explain it here, Sammy. We need to get back to the motel, OK?"

Dean felt a tremor run through his brother's body, a shuddering in-take of breath.

"Please," Sam whispered, starting to struggle weakly again. "I just… I just want my dad." The tears in his voice were breaking Dean's heart. "Please…"

Dean tightened his hold on Sam, more careful now of the boy's hurts, but not letting up until Sam stopped fighting him, going limp again on a sob.

Dean adjusted his grip on his little brother, shifting him into a more comfortable position – for both of them Dean hoped. He closed his eyes. Feeling his heart start to steady, Dean pressed his lips close to Sam's ear.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Sammy," he said, making it a promise. "I know you're scared, buddy, but it's going to be OK."

xxxx

The ride back to the motel had been made in heavy silence, Sam curled into a tight ball in the passenger seat of the Impala.

Dean had put the boy in the back first, but then been forced to chase him down when Sam, slippery as an eel, had slithered across the long bench seat to the opposite door, throwing it open and making a break for the stand of trees just a few yards away. The ensuing dash across the uneven ground had ended in a flying tackle that had banged Sam up some more and driven the air out of Dean's lungs when he'd twisted as they'd gone down, taking the brunt of their landing on his back.

Dean's growled threat to lock Sam in the trunk had been taken seriously, and the kid had huddled docilely within Dean's reach all the long way back to the motel.

The next step was getting the boy from the car to the room without anybody calling the cops. Sam's eyes were narrowed out the window, even as he sat unmoving against the Impala's door. Dean watched his brother assess the parking lot. Just like he'd been taught.

"OK, listen to me, Sammy."

Sam's eyes snapped to Dean.

"You're going to get out of the car on this side with me and we're going to walk, calmly, to the door. If you yell. Or struggle. Or try to run…." He trailed off, fixing Sam with eyes meant to frighten, hating himself.

"Do you understand me?" he asked, voice hard.

Sam blinked back tears. He nodded.

"Do you?" Dean asked it again.

"Yes, sir," Sam whispered.

"Come here, then."

Sam slid across the seat toward Dean.

Dean took the time to dig the key to the room out of his pocket before he took Sam's arm and opened the car door.

They made it into the room without incident, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief as he released his charge. Sam skittered across the room as far away from Dean as he could get in the small space. Closing the door behind him, Dean tossed the key on the dresser. He leaned against the wall next to the door. Rubbed his hand over his eyes.

Sam had retreated into the far corner of the room and crouched down, making himself as small as possible, knees drawn up, arm clutched tightly against his chest, watching Dean out of frightened eyes.

Dean took a couple of steadying breaths before he pushed himself up. Sam startled at the movement and pressed more firmly into the corner.

But even as Sam shrank away, the boy's chin came up, and Dean felt a small ache of pride at the show of defiance.

Carefully, Dean approached the bed nearest Sam's spot on the floor. He sat on the edge, trying to be as non-threatening as possible. Sam was completely still, eyes keeping track of Dean's every move.

"Look, Sammy," Dean said gently. He leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees. "I know this is hard to understand. Hell, I don't understand. But." He took a deep breath. "I'm Dean."

Sam's expression registered only disbelief, but behind his eyes Dean could see the wheels turning. Analyzing. He'd always been such a smart kid.

"I'm Dean," he said again. "Just… grown-up."

Sam didn't say a word. His eyes moved over Dean's face, searching for something.

"We were on a hunt this morning, and something happened," Dean said. "I know that you know that weird things happen sometimes, right?"

Sam's face was blank, giving nothing away. But he nodded cautiously.

Dean sighed.

"This is one of those times. This morning you were an adult. Now you're not. And I don't have any idea what happened," he admitted.

Sam continued to stare, and Dean didn't say anything, letting this sink in.

"I was a grown-up?" the boy finally asked, eyes doubtful.

"Yeah. Yeah, you were. You were 23."

Sam swallowed uncertainly.

Dean was quiet again, letting Sam process.

"And you're Dean?" The question was unsteady, not sure.

"Right," Dean said again.

Sam seemed to absorb this.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"27."

"Wow," Sam breathed. "You're old."

The corner of Dean's mouth quirked up at that. It sure as hell felt that way sometimes.

"Where's Dad?" Sam asked. His eyes, looking at Dean, were steadying, not so lost, but the boy's voice broke on the question.

Dean swallowed. He couldn't do this. Couldn't tell this child-version of Sam that their father was dead.

"It's just you and me, buddy."

Sam blinked at him, face crumpling.

"Where is he?" he asked forlornly, looking at Dean with eyes starting to swim.

"He's… He's just… not here, Sammy. We're working this job on our own."

Even if the kid was buying that Dean was _Dean_, Dean knew that his adult-self was not the big brother Sam knew and felt safe with. Sammy wanted his dad, and Dean's heart broke, knowing he couldn't have him.

"It's going to be OK, Sammy, I promise." Dean scooted off the bed, moving cautiously to sit beside his brother. Sam flinched slightly, but stayed where he was, and Dean let his arm brush Sam's shoulder. After a minute, Dean put a hesitant arm around his little brother, and if Sam stiffened at the contact initially, eventually he relaxed, easing against Dean's side.

They sat in silence.

"OK?" Dean asked softly.

There was a sniff and the movement of Sam's head as he turned it into Dean's chest. "OK."

Dean nodded, surprised, but not. He guessed that for now Sam was going to trust him. He couldn't help but wonder if that would last.

"You smell like Dean," Sam murmured.

Dean blinked.

"What?"

"You smell like Dean," Sam said again, drowzily. "And kind of like Dad." The tip of Sam's nose rubbed across Dean's ribs.

Dean took a breath, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

He stood and helped Sam clamber to his feet before nudging the boy in the direction of the bathroom.

Sam looked at his brother uncertainly when Dean followed him in. His expression mirrored Dean's. The kid was hurt and tired and still kind of scared, and Dean wasn't exactly sure how to handle this situation. He sat down on the closed toilet lid, putting himself more at Sam's level.

"You need some help getting out of that sling?" he asked gently.

Sam nodded shyly, hand coming up to worry at the buttons of the over-shirt Dean had wrapped him in earlier that evening.

"Here." Dean made short work of the flannel before unwinding the makeshift sling he'd fashioned in the cave. Sam held his sore arm to his chest, and he stood unmoving in front of his brother, draped in the filthy t-shirt.

Dean turned to twist the water on, testing the temperature before he returned his attention to his little brother.

"You ready to get in?"

Sam nodded, but he didn't move to take off his shirt. He watched the tub fill with water.

"Buddy?" Dean prodded.

Sam's eyes, when they met Dean's were lost and full of unshed tears.

"I want my dad," he whispered as they spilled over.

Dean swallowed hard. Somehow the vulnerability of being helped with his bath by this man who said he was his brother, but who was a stranger, albeit a vaguely familiar one, had broken down the last of Sam's defenses. He started to cry.

He didn't move toward Dean, but he also didn't resist when Dean tentatively pulled him close. Sam stood stiffly in Dean's arms, even as he pressed his face into his brother's neck while he sobbed.

Dean held him until there were only shuddering gasps from his little brother. He heard a giant sniff and felt a nose wipe itself against his already soggy shoulder. Sam straightened self-consciously and took a step away, a hand coming up to rub at his eyes.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled to the tile floor, embarrassed.

Dean reached out and ran a thumb under Sam's eye, wiping at a tear.

"Nothin' to be sorry for," he reassured the boy.

Sam was quiet for a minute.

"I don't think I can get my shirt off," he admitted quietly.

Carefully, Dean tugged the shirt over Sam's head.

Sam raised a foot to lift it over the edge of the tub, reaching out a hand to steady himself on Dean's shoulder.

Dean felt a sharp ache in his chest at the pressure and the size of the hand that held onto him. So light. Too small. Not _Sam_ with his wide palms and long fingers and powerful grip.

Not Sam.

Clearing his throat against the sudden tightness, Dean helped the boy sit and then shifted so that he was sitting on the edge of the tub, staring down at Sam in the water. There was a patchwork of bruises and scrapes on the pale skin across a fragile-looking back, sturdy legs pulled up to his chest.

Not Sam.

The boy just sat in the water, cheek resting on his knobby knees, motionless, shuddering sighs occasionally shaking his small frame.

So Dean bathed him as best he could. Washed his hair and face, careful of the cut on his forehead, getting the worst of the dirt off the little-boy arms and legs he could reach. Rinsed him off. Maneuvered the silent child out of the tub, dried him, put one of his old t-shirts on him, guided him to the bed.

Sam sat cross-legged on the bed closest to the bathroom while Dean dealt with the injuries the best he could. The gash just below his hairline got a couple of butterfly bandages, and Dean wrapped the sprained wrist in the Ace bandage they kept in the first aid kit they carried with them. Sam's ribs were clearly sore, but didn't seem to be more than bruised. Dean searched the med-kit thoroughly even though he knew he wouldn't find what he was looking for.

"Sammy, I need to go out for just a little while," Dean said.

Sam shifted, uneasiness covering his features.

"Why? Where are you going?" Fear at being left alone.

"Just across the street, OK? There's a pharmacy, and I need to get something to help you with the pain," he said easily. "I won't be gone 15 minutes, buddy. I promise."

"I can go with you," Sam offered, moving to get up.

Dean shook his head.

"No, you can't. Lie down, kiddo."

Reluctantly, Sam crawled under the covers. Dean turned the clock toward Sam's bed.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"9:27."

"What time will it be in 30 minutes?"

Sam eyed him skeptically. "You said 15 minutes." His tone was wavering and almost accusing.

"To give me a buffer."

Sam looked at the clock.

"9:57, 58."

Dean picked up his phone and the key to the room.

"Don't open the door for anybody."

Sam frowned.

"I'm not a baby," he said.

"Sammy…"

"I won't," he sighed.

"Good. How much time do I have?"

Sam angled his head toward the clock. "Twenty-seven minutes."

Dean could see the anxiety on Sam's face.

He was back in fourteen.

xxxx


	3. Chapter 3

_Changes__, ch. 3_

_xxxx_

In the morning Dean made a quick run to Target, throwing little-Sam-sized clothes in his basket before paying and swinging by McDonald's for breakfast. He'd seriously considered a pink "Girlz Rule!" t-shirt for his brother, but decided that what would have been hilarious with adult Sam, might be just a little mean with the kid.

When Dean got back to the room, Sam was sitting with his back against the headboard of his bed watching cartoons.

The boy turned his head toward Dean as the door opened.

"Dean!"

Sam rolled off the bed. He was across the room, snatching the paper bag out of his brother's hands, before Dean got the door shut.

"I'm starved!"

Dean tossed the clothes bag at the bed Sam had slept in.

"I got you something to wear," he said.

Sam had already gotten an Egg McMuffin open and had stuffed a huge bite into his mouth. The boy gave the plastic Target bag a disinterested look as he climbed back up onto the bed, struggling awkwardly in the oversized t-shirt he was wearing. Sam was favoring his left wrist slightly, but the ribs didn't seem to be giving him much trouble.

Dean picked the food bag up off the floor where Sam had dropped it, peering inside. He pulled out his own breakfast and settled on his own bed with coffee in hand.

"Whatcha watching?"

Sam didn't remove his eyes from the television.

"I dunno," he said. "It's got this yellow sponge thing named Bob?"

Dean grinned.

"Sweet."

After breakfast, Sam got dressed, and the two brothers stared at each other across the narrow distance between the two beds.

"Are we going to call Dad now?" Sam asked, hopeful eyes on Dean.

Dean chewed on a thumbnail, considering his response. Sam had slept a solid 10 hours, the pain medication easing the ache and knocking him out. He seemed to be in a better frame of mind this morning, but Dean recognized that it was a tenuous sort of peace. For now, Sam was accepting Dean's story and Dean himself as a substitute for their father's presence. But Dean doubted that would last long.

There was no way he was going to tell this kid that Dad was dead. And if they could figure out what had happened and get it reversed, he should never have to.

"No," he finally answered. "We can take care of this on our own. Just you and me."

Sam bit his lip. "We're not going to tell Daddy?"

Dean got up and moved to sit next to Sam on the other bed. He lowered his voice conspiratorially.

"Let's you and me do it ourselves. Then we'll tell Dad," he lied. "That'd be cool, right? We'll figure it out, and then we can tell Dad we fixed it on our own." He nudged Sam gently in the side. "We'll surprise him, OK?"

Sam looked up at Dean, uncertain, but intrigued. Slowly a small smile lit his face. "And then he'll be happy that we did a hunt all by ourselves. He'll see that I can help, too, not just Dean. Not just you."

Dean felt his heart tighten at this little Sam, eager to hunt, to show his Dad that he could do a grown-up job, just like his big brother. Dean had forgotten.

"Yeah, Sammy," he said with a forced smile. "Dad'll be real happy."

xxxx

"What's that?"

Dean had opened the laptop and powered it up.

"A computer," he said.

"It's little," Sam said, sidling up close. "What're you doing?"

Dean waited for the Explorer window to fill in.

"Research."

Sam's eyes were round.

"Research? That's not books?" he asked.

Dean smirked, cutting his eyes to his brother. "Yeah."

Sam maneuvered around Dean's knee so that he was directly in front of the machine where it sat on the table.

"How's it work?" he asked, voice filled with wonder.

Dean shifted so that he could see around the small body that was now blocking his view. He moved Sam to the left and reached an arm around either side of his brother to rest his fingers on the keyboard.

"You enter search terms here." He put the cursor in the Google search box.

Dean typed some possibilities and paused.

Sam turned to look at him.

"Then what?" he asked when his brother didn't do anything.

And Dean realized suddenly that he'd been waiting for Sam to make suggestions. He cleared his throat.

"Then you click on this button," he said gruffly.

Sam watched the screen, holding his breath in anticipation.

When the list of links appeared, Sam blinked, hand reaching toward the touchpad that Dean had been using. He ghosted a finger over it, taking a small gasp of air when the cursor moved.

Dean grinned.

"You got it," he said. "Now, position the arrow over the link. That blue type there." He pointed to the screen.

Sam followed the direction, face intent as he concentrated.

"Good," Dean approved. "And when it turns into a little hand, press here." He guided Sam's hand toward the button under the touch pad.

Sam's small finger pushed down awkwardly on the silver square, and the boy's eyes widened when the page changed.

"Awesome," he breathed.

Unable to stop himself, Dean threw back his head and laughed. When Sam turned toward his brother, uncertain and surprised, Dean could only shake his head, running a hand over Sam's hair.

"You were always my trusty sidekick geek boy."

The wave of affection that swept over Dean caught him completely unprepared. Wonder and a fierce punch of love for this kid, this _Sam_, almost knocked the breath out of his body.

Not sure why Dean was laughing, Sam still smiled. Because his brother was.

"I'm not a geek," he defended himself somewhat shyly.

"Yeah, you are," Dean said with a grin, unaccountably touched at this consistency in who Sam was.

"What does this mean?" the boy asked returning his attention to the computer, a finger smudging the screen in front of him.

Dean scanned the text that Sam was pointing to and with a muttered curse, shoved Sam out of the way.

"Nothin'," Dean ground out.

Sam blinked at him. Pouted.

"What?"

"Nothing, I said." Dean scowled at the kid. "Go watch cartoons."

"I…"

"Now," Dean said.

Sam's jaw set in a mulish expression Dean recognized.

_Excellent._

"I wanna help," Sam muttered as he shuffled over to the bed.

"Well, you can't," Dean told him. Sam flung himself onto the mattress and glared at the television. He used the remote to raise the volume to a level that made it difficult for Dean to concentrate.

"Turn it down."

No change.

"Sam."

The sound decreased infinitesimally.

"More."

Another minor lowering.

"Sammy," Dean ground out.

"I can help!" Sam yelled suddenly. "I'm not a baby, and I'm the one that got little!"

Dean hunched his shoulders. Rubbed both hands over his face.

"Look. I know you're not a baby, Sammy, and I'll let you help, I promise. But right this minute, the best thing you can do is be quiet and not distract me."

He gave Sam a steady look, trying to remember how he'd coaxed Sam out of these temper tantrums when he'd been little.

Sam scowled at him, considering.

"Promise?" he demanded.

"I promise," Dean said.

With a huff of breath, Sam flopped, belly down onto the bed. Dean saw him wince slightly as he landed.

"'K," Sam conceded abruptly, turning the television down to a manageable level and flipping through channels.

Dean raised an eyebrow at the now quiet boy.

_Alrighty, then._

xxxx

There was a reason that Sam was generally the one who did the research. Dean hated it. It bored him. And frustrated him when he couldn't find what he was looking for.

But this time there was no one else to do it, so Dean gritted his teeth and kept searching.

They'd come here based on news reports of a couple of hikers who had gone missing in a newly opened, remote section of a nearby state park about a month before. The wilderness area had sounded vaguely familiar to Dean, and Sam had found a couple of old stories of people who had disappeared in the 1800s.

There hadn't been much to go on, but they'd been at loose ends and it was close to the Sweeds, so they figured they'd check it out and no harm done if nothing came of it.

Dean should have known better.

He'd been at it for hours when he finally hit something. Trying to figure out terms that encapsulated Sam's changed status, Dean stumbled across a webpage that described a native American myth about a child-spirit that turned adults into kids. Scanning through the story, Dean realized it was based in the same area, but the low mountain range had been called by another name by the indigenous people who had populated this part of the country before white settlers had moved in.

Adjusting his search strategy accordingly, Dean found a few sites that detailed the myth in more depth.

It was a trickster-type spirit that seemed to focus on adults who were overwhelmed by the responsibilities of their lives. Or were cruel to children. The reasoning varied. Dean figured Sam fell in the former category. Apparently, the spirit gave the person a taste of childhood again. Gave them a break from adult cares. Or reminded them that childhood isn't necessarily all lollipops and candy canes. Or made them susceptible, vulnerable to adults. Depending. There was nothing definitive. And nothing about how to restore the child to an adult, though.

Dean ground his teeth. Closer, but…

Stretching his arms out over his head, Dean tried to work the kinks out of his back. How Sam hadn't ended up a hunch-back with the amount of time he spent hunkered in front of the computer, was a mystery to Dean.

He needed a break.

"You hungry?"

Sam leaned his head on a hand as he looked over at his brother.

"Uh-huh," he answered.

"Let's go then," Dean said.

Sam scooted off the bed.

"Did you find anything?"

Sam had stopped asking that question after Dean had threatened to gag him a couple of hours earlier. He seemed to think it might be safe now to try again.

Dean sighed.

"Something, but not much," he admitted.

"What was it?"

Dean looked at Sam speculatively. Shrugged.

"There's an old native American tale about a kid spirit who liked to turn grown-ups into children. Thought it was funny or justice or something."

Sam's brow furrowed.

"Why did it change me?" He thought for a minute. "Did I make it mad?"

Dean shook his head, patting his pockets, checking for his billfold. Found it. He opened the door, and Sam preceded him out into the afternoon sun.

"Nah," he said. "But I think you might've fit the profile of adults it turns."

Sam scowled up at him.

"Fit it how?" he asked.

"Well," Dean responded as he unlocked the passenger side of the Impala. He was stalling, not sure how much to reveal. Sam wasn't getting in the car. Just standing there, waiting.

Dean blew out a breath. "Things have been pretty… overwhelming lately. The trickster turns grownups who are, I don't know, maybe wishing they were kids again." He considered that for a minute because he hadn't really before. Had Sam been longing for that innocence—such as it was in their case—again? "Or something. I really don't know yet, Sam."

Sam climbed into the car, and Dean circled to the driver's side.

"Why would anyone want to be a kid again?" Sam asked somewhat incredulously before Dean could even get the car started.

Dean looked across at Sam, dwarfed by the bench seat, legs stretched out in front of him, feet dangling, wriggling impatiently, trying to peer over the dashboard out the windshield.

He couldn't help the slight smile at the question. "Sometimes it's hard to be an adult, kiddo," he said.

Sam gave him a look that clearly communicated how little he believed that.

Dean shrugged.

"You'll see."

They found a little diner in a strip mall that also boasted a small used bookstore. After they ate, Dean let Sam talk him into doing some browsing of the shelves.

"There's nothing on," he'd whined, and Dean had caved.

Sam found a treasure trove of children's books in the bargain bin, and Dean had let him put a fairly tall stack on the counter. At 25 cents a pop, they could afford it.

When they got back to the hotel, Sam read contentedly while Dean did some more searching until he was pretty convinced that he'd hit a dead end.

His eyes were dry, his back hurt, and he was out of ideas. Time to call it a day.

xxxx


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

_I wish I could tell you that all the updates will come this quickly. But I can't. :) This is ready to go, though, so I figured I might as well go ahead and post it. _

_Sammy meets the Sweeds…_

_xxxx_

The next day, after breakfast, Dean got Sam settled in front of morning cartoons before he headed out to the car, opening the trunk to grab the duffel bag he'd had with him at the caves. He'd forgotten he'd stuffed Sam's clothes in it after the kid had turned into, well, a kid, and he figured he'd wash those clothes while he was washing the stiffness out of Sam's new clothes. Damn, he'd forgotten how much his little brother hated scratchy t-shirts and jeans.

His hand jerked when the bag started to ring.

Sam's phone.

Fumbling, Dean unzipped the canvas duffle and rooted through it for his brother's jeans. He was still struggling to find the pockets when the phone silenced.

He finally managed to pull the gadget – because Sam couldn't have just a regular phone, had to have all the bells and whistles, too – free and looked at the display. _Three missed calls_.

Dean pushed the key that would tell him who the numbers belonged to. _Jo. Jo. And, uh-huh. Jo._

_Crap_.

"Dean!"

He turned his head toward the motel door. Sam was holding Dean's phone. It was ringing.

_Yeah_.

"Hey," Dean said, as he took the phone from his brother and moved past him into the room.

Sam was looking at him questioningly, but shrugged amiably enough when Dean gave him a gentle pull back into the room before closing the door. The boy went back to his bed, climbing up to sit cross-legged at its end, intent on the television.

"No, he's fine," Dean said. There was a peal of delighted laughter from Sam, and the boy rolled over on his side as he chortled. Righted himself, still giggling.

Dean eyed the screen. Roadrunner and Coyote.

Jo sounded vaguely embarrassed. "Well, I didn't want to fuss, but he's usually so prompt about calling me back."

"Yeah, we've just..."

"Dean, watch!" Sam's voice, young and piping.

A beat.

"Who's that?"

"It's…"

"Dean! Dean! Watch! He's going to…" There was another fit of giggling from Sam when the Coyote skidded off the end of the cliff and hung, suspended, just long enough to hold up a sign before he plunged to the ground. There was a puff of animated dirt as he hit the bottom.

"Beep-beep!" said the Roadrunner.

"Did you see? He…" Sam could hardly speak he was so tickled.

"Sammy, I'm on the phone."

Sam's apology was muffled by more laughter.

"Dean."

Jo's voice was faint, like she was afraid to ask. "Who is that?"

They weren't far from the Sweeds and had planned to visit when they finished this job. It was going to be a No Crisis visit—the first in a very long time. He and Sam had joked about not getting hurt, determined not to arrive on Jo's doorstep bleeding or in need of some sort of patching up – either physical or emotional.

Evidently, it wasn't meant to be.

Dean cleared his throat.

"That's Sam."

There was a silence.

"He sounds… like a child," she said.

Dean sighed.

"He is."

More silence.

"I'm sorry. What?"

"He's a kid. We, uh." He stopped. "I'm not sure how it happened. But he's 9."

"Is that Dad?" Sam had slid off the bed and moved close, hooking a finger through one of the belt loops on Dean's jeans, leaning into his brother, wanting. "Can I talk to him?" he asked anxiously, hand reaching.

Dean skimmed a hand over the back of Sam's head. "It's not Dad, Sammy," he said softly.

"Oh."

Sam withdrew. "Sorry," he whispered, blinking back tears.

_Damn._

"Oh, Dean," Jo breathed.

"Yeah," he agreed wearily.

"Hey, Sammy? I'm going outside, OK? I need to take this call."

Sam nodded, not looking at his brother. "'K," he said.

"Dean, what happened?" she asked, incredulous.

"I don't know." It came out sharper than he'd intended, and he deliberately took a breath, softening his tone. "We were investigating some disappearances and we got separated in the caves we were exploring. When I found Sam, he was a kid."

"Did he…? Does he remember? Is he adult Sam in a boy's body?"

Dean sighed.

"No. He doesn't remember. He's just this little kid, wanting his dad and his brother, and I'm basically this stranger. I… I scared the crap out of him."

"But, it sounds like he knows who you are now."

"Yeah. I managed to convince him I'm Dean grown-up." He breathed out an unsteady laugh. "I guess that's one advantage to growing up the way we did. I tell Sam I'm a grown up version of me, and he believes it." He paused. "But… he's still a little boy. And he wants Dad. But, Jo, I can't… I can't tell him…."

He heard her sigh on the other end of the line. "Right," she said softly.

"I've got to… I've got to find a way to get him back to himself before he finds out Dad's dead."

"Of course you do," she agreed with him. She paused before she asked, "Is there anything we can do?"

Dean tried to think that through.

"Do you need someone to watch him? You can't leave him alone while you're trying to figure this out, can you?"

He bit his lip. Dad had left them on their own all the time when they were kids, starting when Dean had been younger than Sam. But they'd had each other. Leaving Sam would mean leaving him alone.

"We're actually not that far from you guys," he conceded a little grudgingly. He didn't want to dump this—Sam—on them. But…. "We were going to come visit after we were done with this job," he said somewhat bitterly.

"Come now," she said without hesitation.

"Jo," he started. But didn't know what he wanted to say.

"What?" she answered. "Honey, do you think I want to miss an opportunity to meet one of you as a little boy?" There was humor in her voice, and Dean couldn't help but smile in response.

"Better Sam than me," he told her.

She laughed. "I think my boys may get a real kick out of being bigger than Sam for a little while. It's a good thing he hasn't abused them too much."

Dean grinned. He'd been so freaked out by Sam's smallness he hadn't actually taken advantage of the opportunities presented by being taller than his little brother again. _Hmmm._ Of course, it would be so much more satisfying if Sam himself could appreciate the change in their heights.

"Well. If you're sure," he said. "It would be nice not to have to worry about leaving him by himself."

"It's settled then," she said briskly. "When can we expect you?"

Dean thought for a minute. It would take them some time to pack up.

"Coupla three hours?"

"You're that close?" He could hear the surprise and pleasure in her voice. "We'll hold lunch for you, OK?"

"That would be great."

"Wonderful! We'll see you soon."

"Yeah. See you in a little while."

Dean closed his phone and took a moment to relish the easing of the tension in his shoulders. He hadn't even really thought about having to leave Sam on his own in the motel if he needed to be gone while he was fixing this mess. But knowing that he wouldn't have to now made it feel like he'd lost about 15 pounds.

He turned back to the room, throwing open the door.

"Come on, Sammy. Let's get packed."

xxxx

Dean had explained to Sam that they were going to stay with some friends, and Sam had dutifully gotten up and started getting ready to go.

It had taken longer to get packed and to the Sweeds' than Dean had anticipated and both their stomachs were rumbling by the time the Impala pulled up in front of the house.

Dean opened his door, looking over at his little brother.

"You ready?"

Sam nodded, eyes on the house, but the look he sent Dean was nervous. Dean stopped and turned to Sam.

"It's going to be OK, Sammy," he said gently. "I know it's kind of weird that you don't remember them and they remember you, but I promise. You're really going to like these people."

Sam blinked huge eyes at him, and nodded again, trusting his big brother. "OK," he whispered.

Before they were completely out of the car, the front door of the house slammed open, and Tommy was pelting across the porch.

"Hey!" he yelled.

Jo was right behind him. "Tommy! Stop right there," she ordered. He came to a skidding halt at the top of the stairs.

Dean's eyes went across the hood of the car to Sam, who had frozen by the wheel-well when Tommy made his appearance. Dean smiled encouragingly at Sam, holding out a hand to him as he came around the front of the car. Sam didn't take his hand, but he did glue himself to Dean's side, staying slightly behind his brother as they approached the house.

"Hey, Tommy," Dean said. His eyes went past the boy to Jo. "Hey."

But Tommy's and Jo's eyes were on Sam.

Dean felt Sam shift so that he was standing completely behind him. He bit the inside of his cheek and cocked an eyebrow at Jo.

Jo shook herself, and started down the stairs, putting a hand on Tommy's shoulder to keep him from running ahead of her.

"Hey, Dean," she said softly. "We're so glad you're here." She gave Tommy a little shake.

"Yeah," Tommy managed. But he hadn't stopped gaping. "Is that really Sam?" he asked.

Sam pressed tightly against Dean's back, and Dean reached behind to pull the kid into view. Sam came, dragging his feet, eyes on the ground as he was thrust forward. Dean put both hands on his brother's shoulders, anchoring him.

"Yeah, it is," Dean said. "Sammy, this is Jo. And Tommy." He squeezed Sam's shoulders.

"Hey," Sam mumbled, finally looking up.

Jo smiled, and Dean was only slightly surprised to see that there were tears in her eyes.

"Hey, Sam," she said gently. She approached them slowly. "It's so good to meet you."

Sam bit his lip and smiled shyly at her. "Hi," he said.

Not seeming even to realize she was doing it, Jo reached out and touched Sam's cheek with her finger tips, then his hair.

"Oh, Dean," she breathed.

Sam had rocked back slightly into Dean at Jo's touch, but he didn't protest, allowing the contact with wide eyes. Dean wondered if Sam could sense the affection in the caress.

"Yeah," Dean agreed.

The moment passed when Sam became aware again of Tommy's unrelenting stare. He scowled.

"Take a picture, why don't you?" he muttered.

Tommy blinked in surprise and then grinned. "Dude. I'm totally bigger than you!" He was, if not by much.

The gloating tone in Tommy's voice made Dean laugh out loud, and he shoved Sam away from him, toward the other boy.

Off balance, Sam took a staggering step forward. He stopped, uncertain, looking from Dean to Tommy. His brother's reaction and Tommy's obvious good-humor took some of the edge off Sam's attitude.

But not all of it.

"So?" he said, still a trifle belligerent. Sam had been the new kid in enough schools that he didn't back down from what might be a challenge to his ability to stick up for himself.

"Nothin'," Tommy said, continuing to smile widely, clearly delighted by this smaller version of Sam.

"What?" asked Sam, confused, and not liking it.

Tommy looked over at Dean, impish smile deepening.

"Nothing," the boy said again. "But. You know you're, like, taller than Dean usually, right?"

Sam blinked, turning back to his brother. "I am?" he said, wonderingly.

"Yeah," Tommy said with satisfaction. "Like, way taller."

"He's not _way_ taller," Dean said grumpily, starting up the stairs. "Is it time to eat?"

He addressed the question to Jo, thinking that if he ignored the boys they'd let the matter drop.

"I'm way taller than Dean," Sam breathed. Dean could hear the awe in Sam's voice.

"You're _not_ way taller," he responded sharply, unable to let the statement go unchallenged.

"That is so cool!" Sam's grin widened until it almost split his face.

"Sammy," Dean started, rising, in spite of himself, to this threat to his big-brother position of power.

"Boys," Jo said, interrupting what would probably have proven to be an embarrassing confrontation between a grown man and a child over who was taller. "We're ready to eat if y'all are hungry."

"I'm starved," Tommy said enthusiastically. "Come on, Sam!"

Sam cast a quick glance at Dean before he took off after Tommy.

Jo raised an eyebrow at Dean.

"I think the two of them together may prove somewhat challenging," she said thoughtfully.

Dean could only agree.

xxxx


	5. Chapter 5

_Changes__, Chapter 5_

_xxxx_

In the kitchen, Sam gravitated back to Dean, watching Jo and Tommy with curious, wary eyes. There seemed to be a safety zone associated with his brother that Sam wouldn't breach, never straying outside of Dean's reach at any given moment. Even as Dean and Tommy sat at the table and the younger boy began bombarding Dean with questions, Sam didn't sit – too far – just hovered at Dean's elbow on the opposite side from Tommy.

Occasionally, as she moved around the kitchen, Jo would glance over at the table and catch Sam's eye. When she smiled at him, the child returned it shyly, but always inched closer again to his brother. And Dean, as if sensing Sam's uneasiness, would reach out a hand to touch his brother's arm or rub his back, never taking his attention off Tommy.

It was fascinating.

As an adult, Sam had an open face—wide-eyes and a "you can trust me" smile—that Jo had come to recognize was deceptive in its sincerity.

On first meeting, Sam came across as an easy-going, sensitive young man. And there was truth in that assessment. But it wasn't until she'd known him for awhile that Jo began to realize how much of himself the boy kept hidden in spite of a demeanor that seemed so patently transparent.

Eventually, she'd concluded that Sam, in spite of exuding an air of complete honesty and openness, was every bit as shielded as Dean. In fact, Sam had actually managed to add another layer of protection. One that looked so clear you could dive into it, but that was actually a viscous gel that trapped you, kept you from ever reaching Sam's own version of the brittle mask his older brother wore so much more obviously.

Dean's "back off" attitude and roguish charm were – to Jo – such blatant attempts to protect himself, that Sam's more subtle means of deflecting people had initially gone completely unchallenged. Sam had learned to use "normal" as a means of holding others at arm's length just as effectively as Dean used stiff-arm tactics to maintain distance.

But underneath the veneer of fresh-faced college boy was the same lingering darkness that haunted his older brother.

This little boy hadn't learned to protect himself that way yet. And rather than making an effort to fit in, the way his adult-self would, this child-Sam withdrew to the only safety he knew – Dean. And Dean, with just a touch, could provide a sense of security that Jo suspected still eluded Sam—even as an adult—unless he was close to his brother.

The arrival of the rest of the family for lunch drove Sam almost into Dean's lap. When Luke, resplendent in his sheriff's uniform, appeared, Sam's eyes widened to the size of saucers, and he darted uncertain glances between his smiling brother and Luke's kind face as the man hunkered down to Sam's level, extending a hand.

"Hey, Sammy," he said. "It's nice to meet you."

Sam took the hand and shook it. "Hi," he said softly, backing into Dean again.

Jo met Luke's eyes when her husband raised them to her – wonder and disbelief all over his face. _How in the world…?_

Lunch turned into a lingering affair. They crammed around the small kitchen table, and Jo made sure that Sam's chair was next to his brother's, trying to give him the proximity he seemed to crave right then. Sam was mostly silent during the beginning of the meal, watching the chaotic interaction around him with a slightly dazed expression. His eyes strayed constantly to his brother, smiling when Dean smiled, listening to whoever Dean listened to.

Eventually, though, Sam relaxed, taking his cue from Dean. He was still hyper-aware of the stunned attention on him, but seemed better able to tolerate it by the end of the meal. He actually managed his own conversation with Jake, accepting the older boy's teasing with an uncertain smile.

Grinning somewhat evilly himself, Dean put Sam to work with the rest of the boys clearing the table after they were finished, and Sam, oblivious, pitched in without complaint.

"Hey, Sammy."

Of course it was Jake who had picked up on the fact that the child didn't protest the use of the nickname and had taken to using it every time he spoke to the boy. The tone of Jake's voice and his expression made Jo narrow her eyes at him in anticipation of whatever he was going to say.

Sam had just put the last dish in the dishwasher, and he turned unsuspecting doe-eyes on Jake. Jo watched the mischievous grin on her middle nephew's face falter.

"Um. Do you like horses?" he asked.

Jo wondered if that had been what he'd planned to ask initially.

Sam's face lit up, and Jake suddenly grinned. "You wanna come see ours?"

"Yeah!"

Sam threw himself at Dean. "Can I, Dean? Can I?"

Dean shrugged. "Sure." He looked over at Jake. "You planning on riding?"

Sam made a clearly uncontrolled yelping sound and was almost dancing as he spun toward Jake. "Can we? Can we really?"

Jake took a step back. He seemed suddenly uneasy with this enthusiastic child. His eyes went to Jo and then Dean.

"Uh. Sure," Jake agreed. "If that's OK."

He was watching Sam again.

Sam twirled back to his brother.

"Can we? Please, Dean? Please!"

Tommy had joined Sam by Dean. "Yeah, Dean! Please? We won't go very far, right Jake?" Tommy looked over at his brother for confirmation.

"Right," Jake said softly.

Dean considered. "What about your wrist, Sammy? I'm not sure…"

"Dean," Sam wailed.

"We'll stay in the corral," Jake said.

Sam's lower lip thrust out, not happy with this. But Jake didn't budge.

"It's that or nothing, kiddo," he said. "It's not safe if you're hurt."

Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother.

"Fine," Sam muttered, and Dean's other eyebrow rose to join the first.

"Would you rather not ride at all, tiger?" he asked. "Cuz, Jake doesn't have to do this …" He trailed off, leaving the threat hanging.

"No!" Sam said quickly, coming out of the sulk with a jolt. "That's OK! I don't mind."

Jake smiled at Sam.

"We'll see how it goes, OK, Sammy?" he told the younger boy. And Jo heard the shift in the way he said the name – gentle now, not teasing.

Sam nodded his agreement and ran after Tommy who had bolted for the outside. First the back door slammed, then the screen porch door echoed it.

Jake stood for a minute, brows drawn together.

"He's really a little kid, isn't he?" he said.

"Yeah," Dean said, watching the boy.

Jake's eyes were on the back door, and he nodded slowly.

"OK," he said, gaze finally coming around to meet Dean's. "OK."

xxxx

That night, neither Jo nor Luke were surprised when Dean wandered back into the kitchen after getting Sam into bed. Michael was reading the sports' page at the table. Jake had gone out with friends.

"You want a glass of wine?" Luke asked as Dean settled heavily into a chair.

Dean gave Luke a disbelieving look.

"Red wine is good for your heart," Luke said somewhat defensively.

"A belt of whiskey doesn't do the same thing?"

Luke laughed. "Not that I know of." He grimaced, apologetically. "We don't have any anyway. And we're out of beer."

Dean sighed.

"Yeah, I guess."

Luke poured.

"Luke?" Michael had looked up hopefully. He gave the bottle a glance and then his uncle.

"You turn 21 without me knowing?" Luke asked.

Michael frowned at him.

"I bet your mama'll make you some warm milk if you ask her," Luke added with a grin.

Jo and Michael rolled their eyes in tandem.

"No, she won't," Jo said with a smile for Michael. "I just got comfortable."

Michael heaved a long-suffering sigh and got up to make himself some coffee.

"How are you doing?" Jo asked, turning her attention to Dean.

Dean lifted a shoulder.

"I'm not sure."

Luke nodded, face sympathetic. "Tell us what you know."

Dean did. It didn't take long.

"I've got some other sites I should check. And I need to call Bobby. See if he has any ideas. But…."

He shook his head. Sighed.

"I thought I'd try some of the archives around the area, too. There's a lot of information that hasn't made it online yet, and maybe I can find something there."

Jo nodded. "I know Meg Hoffman over at the county historical archives. She says there's a lot of stuff they just don't have time to digitize. And there's a pretty good collection of Native American materials there. Maybe…"

"Yeah. Maybe."

He was discouraged and not bothering to hide it. Jo reached out and put a hand on his arm.

"How are things going? With Sam being a little boy?"

Dean shrugged again.

"OK, I guess. It's weird, though, you know?" He laughed softly at the understatement. "I just… I feel like I just got used to having him back and …." Dean shook his head, didn't finish.

"Now, he's gone again."

"Yeah." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "And I could use his help on this. He looks at things different than I do and another perspective is helpful, you know? When you don't know exactly what you're looking for. To have someone else…"

He trailed off.

After a moment of silence, Jo asked hesitantly, "And how's Sam doing? Has he asked about your dad again?"

"He hasn't asked." Dean cleared his throat, said tightly, "but tonight he wondered what I thought Daddy was doing."

If Dean noticed that he'd used Sam's "Daddy" instead of "Dad," he didn't give any indication.

No one pursued what Dean's response had been, and there was silence for a beat.

"You think he's getting used to you as his brother?" Luke ventured.

"Seems to be." Dean's forehead creased slightly. "For the most part. I mean, I don't think he's totally comfortable. Because he's not… not… as," he cleared his throat uncomfortably, "cuddly as he used to be at that age."

All three of the other people sitting at the table raised their eyebrows.

Jo asked carefully, "Cuddly?"

The tips of Dean's ears got pink.

"Yeah. Before. When he was little, he always wanted me to stay when he got in bed, read him a story or talk or whatever. It wasn't until he was, I don't know, 13 or 14 that he _really_ started gettin' all pissy and, 'I'm not a baby! Stop touching me! I hate you!'"

Dean's voice had risen an octave, a dead-on imitation of outraged teenaged boy.

Luke almost snorted wine out of his nose; Michael and Jo both guffawed.

Dean grinned.

"Anyway." He swallowed down the last of his drink. "He didn't ask me to stay with him tonight, but I remembered that he'd liked that so… so I just sat on his bed with him and rubbed his back until he fell asleep."

He said it softly, like he was embarrassed, and Jo felt her throat ache, her eyes sting.

"How'd he take that?" Luke's voice was gruff, and he cleared his throat.

Dean sighed. "He wasn't sure at first, but he relaxed after awhile."

Luke nodded.

"I guess he knows you're you, but maybe he's not sure exactly what to do with an adult you."

"I just… I want him to know he's safe. Even without Dad here. Until I can get him changed back." Dean's voice cracked, and he ducked his head.

"I think he does feel safe with you, sweetheart," Jo said softly, reaching out a hand to comfort. "He wouldn't be separated from you this afternoon." She couldn't help the small laugh. "He even waited right outside the bathroom for you. He wouldn't do that if he didn't trust you."

Dean squinted over at her, shoulders hunching.

"Maybe," he said. But he sounded somewhat reassured.

xxxx

It was no surprise to anyone that Sam and Tommy were immediately inseparable, and any concern Dean might have had about leaving Sam with the Sweeds while he was doing research had been quickly dispelled. Even Sam's determination to help find a way to reverse his condition faded in light of the temptation to play presented by Tommy's presence.

The day after they arrived, Dean had been gone almost 12 hours, and when he'd apologized, Sam's response, poking his head out from the elaborate pillow fort he and Tommy had constructed in the family room, had been a blank stare and, "OK."

Fine.

And if Sam wanted to sleep in the boys' room upstairs while Michael was gone for the weekend that was fine with Dean as well. He hadn't had a room to himself for years.

He was definitely not hurt by Sam's defection. Definitely not.

Dean squinted at the clock when he was awakened by someone tripping over the bed next to him and a muffled, "Shoot!"

Dean groaned as he glared at the intruder.

"What the hell, Jake?" He reached out to turn on the bedside lamp.

Jake scowled at him from Sam's bed after he'd flopped down on it. He was rumpled and disgruntled.

"I can't sleep with the two of them in there," he muttered. He had lain down and was trying to arrange an armful of quilt and pillows so that it would be comfortable.

"What?" Dean frowned back at the boy.

"They won't shut up."

Dean looked at the clock again. "It's 3 a.m."

"No kidding," Jake said. He rolled over so that his back was to Dean.

Dean swung his legs over the edge of his bed and kicked spitefully at the mattress next to him.

"Get up," he said shortly.

Jake moaned. "Dean…."

"Get up," Dean said again. He jerked the covers off the boy, ignoring the grumbling. "You're sleeping in your own bed. And Sammy's sleeping in his."

Jake trailed along after him dragging bedclothes, still mumbling unhappily as they made their way up the stairs.

Dean opened the door.

A flashlight switched off.

"Sammy, get up." He said it low, hoping not to rouse the rest of the family down the hall.

Silence.

Dean raised his voice slightly. "Now, Sam."

There was muffled giggling from the direction of the bunk beds.

"Sam's asleep," came the whispered response.

Dean ground his teeth.

"Do I sound like I'm kidding around here, Sammy?"

More snickering.

Two strides got him to the bedside of the two miscreants. Behind him, Jake shuffled over to Michael's bed. Dean could sense the speaking look the kid was giving him as he dropped down.

"Get up, Sam."

"Sam's asleep." Again. From under the covers.

Tired and frustrated, Dean yanked the quilt back, pulling it fiercely out of the grip of two small hands. "It's fucking 3 o'clock in the morning, Sam."

There was startled silence at his use of that particular word.

"Ummmmmmm," Tommy said. He was sitting straight up in the top bunk, lips pursed disapprovingly. "You're going to get in trouble!"

Sam was looking at him round-eyed, like he'd never heard such language before. Even Jake was eyeing him a little uncertainly.

"I'm an adult, and I get to use whatever _goddamn_ language I _goddamn_ well please," he ground out. He recognized the childishness of his response, but he resented like hell the fact that he was in this position. He'd already played big brother/caretaker to Sam in this lifetime. He didn't want to do it again.

"Go downstairs, Sam," he snapped. "You're not sleeping up here."

Righteous indignation over the loss of privilege overcame shock at the repeated use of forbidden words.

"Aunt Jo said Sammy could sleep …" Tommy's protest was high-pitched.

"Jo said…" Sam's voice joined his friend's, and Dean began to realize there wasn't much chance he was going to be able to dislodge Sam without waking Jo and possibly Luke.

"I'm overriding Jo because the two of you aren't sleeping," Dean said tightly. He took hold of Sam's elbow and began to pull him out of the lower bunk.

Sam came, but not without voicing his displeasure. Loudly. "That's not fair. Jo said I could sleep up here. You can't…."

"Yes," Dean said pointedly. "I can." He handed Sam his pillows. "I'm the big brother," he said angrily. "So move. Now."

"It's not fair," Sam complained again. "You're mean."

_Great._

"We'll go to sleep now, Dean, we promise." Tommy sounded betrayed even as he pled his case.

The light switched on.

"What in the world is going on in here?"

Luke, hair standing up on end. Bleary.

Both Tommy and Sam stopped their complaints.

Dean cleared his throat and turned to meet Luke's eyes.

"Evidently, Sam and Tommy don't actually, you know, sleep when we let them sleep in the same room."

"Luke, Aunt Jo said that Sammy could sleep up here, and now, Dean…" Tommy jumped in trying to sway Luke to their side.

His uncle just looked at him.

"What time is it, Tommy?" he asked carefully.

Tommy bit his lip as his gaze skittered to the clock on the wall.

Luke raised an eyebrow at him.

"After 3," he whispered.

"Yeah."

Luke turned his attention to Sam, who dropped his eyes and started for the door. Luke stepped out of the doorway to give Dean and Sam room to pass.

"Good night, gentlemen."

xxxx


	6. Chapter 6

_Changes_, Chapter 6

Dean faced a chilly reception from both boys the following morning at the breakfast table—fierce silence from Sam and vaguely accusatory looks from Tommy. Jo backed him up when she heard the story from the younger boys, going so far as to apologize to Dean for agreeing to the arrangement without checking first.

More scowls from Sam and Tommy at this unexpected lack of support from Jo.

Dean thanked her after the boys slunk off, and she shook her head at him a little ruefully.

"I think sometimes they forget you're an adult. And I don't help when I act like I'm the one in charge of Sammy as well as my own kids."

Jo along with the rest of the family had taken up "Sammy" for the child version of his little brother. Dean couldn't help but wonder what would happen with that when Sam was himself again.

Dean shrugged, finishing his breakfast before he got up, wandering over to the counter for another cup of coffee.

"I don't want to be the adult," he said, somewhat petulantly.

Jo gave a surprised laugh. "What?"

Dean slouched back to his chair. "I don't know. When we were kids, I was the one who made sure he followed the rules that Dad laid down a lot of the time. But I wasn't the one who made the rules. You know?" He gave her a pathetic look. "It was easier to be all 'I know it sucks, but Dad said…' Not that it was always easy that way, but… Now it's just me, and he hates it, and I miss…"

He stopped when his throat closed abruptly.

"You miss him," Jo said softly.

Dean grunted and shook his head.

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. Then snorted wryly. "Who'd'a thunk it?"

Jo rolled her eyes.

"Anybody who knows you." She dropped a kiss on the top of his head. "Idiot."

Dean slumped his shoulders in agreement. He drank his coffee in silence as Jo finished puttering around the kitchen.

The truth was, he _was_ surprised at the sharpness of the pain in his heart, missing Sam.

Before Sam had left for college, they'd only had each other. Missing Sam when he'd gone to Stanford had been a constant, nagging ache for months, an echoing lack of _presence_. But there'd been more in the middle of that—anger and hurt and. bigger than that almost all the rest, rejection. Not only Sam's of Dad and him, but Dad's of Sam himself—the collapse of the only thing that felt safe to Dean—his family. It had made him restless with the loss.

This was different.

It wasn't the lack of Sam's presence that made Dean ache—because Sammy was _here_. Sammy with Sam's eyes and grin and penchant for pouting. Sammy who had starting watching this grown-up Dean with the same little brother adoration Dean sometimes still saw reflected on the face of the man the child had become.

And Dean realized it was the absence of that man that made his chest hollow with longing. No longer "just" little brother and constant companion, but now best friend and partner, as well. He missed _Sam_. Missed his steadiness and support; missed laughing and fighting and being with his brother. Hell, he even missed being challenged and second-guessed and mocked by the kid.

Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair, shaking his head to pull himself out of his funk. This was not permanent. He'd get Sam back.

It occurred to him abruptly that neither of the boys had tattled on him for his language last night. Or to be more precise, _Sam_ hadn't given him up for that. Because when they were young Sam had been known – on more than one occasion – to rat his brother out when he was particularly pissed.

Dad's response had varied according to the level of the offense and his mood. He'd rarely been sympathetic when the crimes were minor, especially when he was freshly off a hunt. And generally Dad's reaction had been to give Dean a lecture and warn Sammy about being a tattle-tale.

Once, when the offense had actually warranted telling Dad, Dean had gotten a well-deserved spanking. Sam had cried harder than Dean and kept his mouth shut for months afterward.

Dean figured maybe he'd better come clean.

"Just so you know, I dropped the mother of all cuss words on Sam last night," he said.

Jo raised an eyebrow at him. "The big one?"

Dean nodded. "And a couple of smaller gems."

She laughed.

"Well, it _was_ three o'clock in the morning; I'll give you a pass."

He grinned.

"Just this once," she warned, pointing a finger at him.

"Yes, ma'am."

xxxx

The addition of Sam to the mix of boys in the Sweed household had, in some ways, actually made things easier for Jo. Tommy and Sam kept each other _well_ occupied, decreasing in significant number the times she was subjected to whines of "I'm bored" from Tommy and pleas from Jake and Michael for her to make Tommy stop bugging them.

It didn't completely stop either complaint – in fact it increased the hysteria in Jake's voice when both of the younger boys were involved – but she never would have expected that. She had too many summers with restless kids under her belt to think that.

Sam seemed to adjust to the new environment without much difficulty, thrilled with Tommy as a playmate and accepting whatever boundaries Jo placed on their activities with surprising equanimity. Dean's admonishments to "mind Jo" had been taken seriously, even without his physical presence there to back it up.

It didn't mean that the two boys didn't get into trouble and didn't mean that Sam didn't do his fair share of instigating whatever mess he and Tommy found themselves in. But it did seem to mean that he would take his punishment without complaint and do whatever little chores Jo sometimes put the boys to.

Sam didn't talk to her, though. Not the way he did as an adult, trusting her, confiding in her. In fact, he rarely spoke to Jo at all unless he was directly addressed. He was responsive to her, no question. Polite and unfailingly sweet. But he didn't volunteer information the way he had before, the way he did with Dean or Tommy or even Luke. He never tried to engage her.

But, he watched her. Curious eyes following her around the kitchen or the family room or the diner. Shy smiles and a ducked head when she caught him looking. Never responding to the subtle hints she gave him that it was OK to approach. And it occurred to Jo after a couple of days, that the child wasn't exactly sure how to deal with a woman this entangled in his daily life.

So, she went on the offensive.

"Hey, baby."

Sam had just finished breakfast and was waiting for Tommy to go get something upstairs. He looked up at her in question.

"I was thinking about baking cookies this morning." Sam's eyes lit up. "I could really use a hand. Do you think you could help me?"

"OK." Always agreeable.

She smiled at him.

"Good!"

"I found 'em!" Tommy made his appearance, holding a couple of action figures that Jo didn't feel up to trying to identify. He slapped them on the table in front of Sam.

"Tommy."

The boys had already started the two plastic action heroes – Spiderman and Batman? – wrestling with each other over a spoon.

"Yeah?" he said, using a hand to shove lightly at Sam, trying to gain some leverage. Sam caught one of Tommy's fingers and started to bend it backwards.

_Uh, no._

"Hey," she said sharply. Startled stillness.

"Honey, I need you to go find Michael and have him take you into town. Remember it's Abby's birthday this weekend? You need to find her a present." She had serious qualms about sending Tommy and Michael to gift shop for a little girl, but….

"OK! Come on, Sam…"

"Nope. Sammy's going to stay here with me."

Sam blinked in surprise, and Tommy's face drew into a scowl.

"But…" her nephew started to protest.

"I'm baking cookies, and Sam's promised to help." She turned a hopeful smile on that boy. "Right, Sammy?"

Sam nodded slowly, but not sure.

Tommy gave a long-suffering sigh.

"Michael will want to get her something girly," he complained. And Jo closed her eyes thankfully. _Of course he will._

"Well. She is a girl, after all, remember?"

"I'm not getting her _flowers_ or something _smelly_ or anything," he warned her.

"That's fine," Jo told him. "There are plenty of fun things that girls will like that aren't going to offend your delicate sensibilities. Just remember that the point is to get something _Abby_ would like, OK, sweetie? Not something _you_ would like. Something _Abby_ would like."

He sighed again. "OK."

"That's my boy." She kissed him on the top of the head, and he leaned into her for a hug. In her peripheral vision, Jo saw Sam standing just to the side, watching.

As she straightened, Jo reached out a hand to smooth Sam's hair. He startled, but didn't draw away.

"You ready to make cookies?" she asked. He nodded, silky hair sliding loosely between her fingers, then smiled when she pushed his bangs out of his eyes.

"OK, then. Let's get started."

Over the course of the morning baking, Jo was thrilled to have Sam gradually peek out of his shell, giggling with her over the story about Dean baking Christmas cookies, and tentatively sharing a story of his own about his Dad trying to bake Easter cookies one year when they going to a parochial school for a spring semester.

"Dad was so mad when went to the grocery store the next week and there were all these Easter cookies on sale." He snickered. "He didn't know we could've bought 'em."

"Did you know?" she asked, giving him a look.

He grinned at her, a little abashed, and nodded. She shook her head at him and smiled.

When they took the first batch of cookies out of the oven, Jo set aside a few for herself and Sam. When they'd cooled to a touchable temperature, she poured a couple of glasses of milk, and they sat down at the table.

Sam munched on his cookie in silence, occasionally contemplating it thoughtfully before turning it slightly and taking another nibble. Jo couldn't figure out what he was doing.

She was watching him, brow furrowed, when he asked quietly, "What if I don't ever turn big again?"

Jo swallowed, completely unprepared for the question.

"Well…."

"Dean said I shouldn't worry. That he would change me back – cuz that's what big brother's do." He hesitated. "But what if he can't?"

"I don't know, Sammy," she said honestly. "I think Dean will figure out a way. I really do." She wanted to reassure him. "But if he doesn't…. Well, I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, OK? There's no point worrying about it right now."

Sam's face stayed creased with anxiety. He wasn't going to stop worrying, she realized.

"Honey, if you stay little, we'll deal with it, OK? All of us."

"We'd hafta tell Dad then, huh?" he said, looking at her through his lashes.

Jo wondered if her shock showed. She swallowed hard and cursed at the tears she felt sting her eyes.

"Do you think he'll be mad?" he whispered. "Cuz I messed up and got little?"

Jo moved toward him, kneeling next to his chair.

"No, baby. Your daddy won't be mad at you." Her hand hovered and then touched him lightly, rubbing circles over his back.

"Is Dean mad?" he ventured hesitantly, biting on his lower lip. "And he doesn't want to tell Dad I …."

"No, honey, it's not that either. It's just…." She was at a loss.

"Then why can't we call Dad?" he asked.

She didn't have an answer for that question.

"Have you asked Dean?" she tried.

Sam sniffed and wiped at his eyes.

"Dean says we can do it on our own and surprise Dad. That Dad'll be glad we did it all by ourselves."

Jo nodded along as Sam spoke.

"That makes sense, sweetie. Think how proud he'll be of you." The words felt like sawdust in her mouth. Lies.

"I guess," Sam said listlessly.

"You miss him, huh, sweetheart?" she asked softly.

Sam nodded, tears falling on hands clenched in his lap.

Jo pressed a kiss to his temple, and Sam turned toward her, arms coming up around her neck. Startled, Jo stilled and then pulled him close, rocking him awkwardly.

"Not too much longer, baby," she whispered against his ear. "Just hold on a little while longer."

xxxx

The fact that Michael was home for the summer was fortuitous from Dean's perspective. The kid had a knack for historical research and the kind of face that charmed local librarians with an ease Sam would have envied. Michael had gotten in the Impala with Dean the second day the Winchesters had been home, refusing to be removed, insistent that he could help with the research for a cure to Sam's condition.

Dean had actually been glad for the company, not that he'd admit it, and the two of them had spent days among the dusty archives in a three county area. If it had been disconcerting initially to have someone other than Sam in the passenger seat of the Impala, Dean had eventually gotten used to turning and not finding his brother beside him. He'd almost stopped expecting Sam's voice or the brush of a familiar hand along his shoulder when Sam slung his freakishly long arm across the back of the bench seat.

Almost.

What they'd found in their quest had not been much. There just wasn't much to find.

Michael came across an oral history of local native myths that had vague references to the trickster-spirit that Dean had found in his early searching. There'd been a reference to the new moon and changes from the cycle, but nothing concrete. The story was told in frustrating, cryptic generalities that neither felt particularly sure of.

Dean's own search of the microfiche archives of the newspapers in the area had stories of people disappearing and one about a child that had mysteriously appeared around the same time a man who was new to the area had gone missing. But there had been no connection made between the two.

Dean ran his hand through his hair as he and Michael sat in the Impala on the way back to the Sweeds. He was letting the kid drive as he sorted through the copies they'd made.

"I don't know," he said in frustration. "The only thing I can figure is to be in the cave again at the new moon. And see what happens."

Michael shot him a sidelong glance.

"What if it turns you into a kid?" he asked uncertainly.

Dean shook his head.

"As near as I can tell, it's at the full moon when you go from adult to kid. If we stay out over the full, the new won't make me change." He sighed. "I think."

Michael wasn't sure. "I guess."

"Besides. I'm not cruel to kids." Michael snorted and Dean smacked him on the back of the head. "Or overwhelmed with my responsibilities as an adult…"

Michael raised an eyebrow at him.

Dean grinned wryly. "Well, not any more than I have been since I was four." He shook his head. "Turning me back into a kid isn't going to relieve me of my sense of responsibility, so there's no point, right?"

Michael still didn't seem convinced.

"Maybe I could take him in," he offered.

Dean huffed out a breath through his nose.

"Hate to break it to you, but you're an adult now, too, kiddo." He hit the last word with a smirk.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Maybe. But what kind of responsibilities do I have to overwhelm me? College?" He laughed, and Dean looked at him questioningly.

"I mean, sure, I get overwhelmed by school sometimes, but really? My food, my housing, my tuition… I'm lucky. All that's paid for." He paused. "I'm just saying that I don't have any real _adult_ responsibilities, you know?"

Dean forced himself to consider Michael's offer seriously. But Dean really didn't think there was much chance he himself would get turned. And he wasn't willing to take the risk with Michael.

"Nah," Dean said, aiming the research over his shoulder, dropping the stack of paper into the back seat. "It might be helpful if you come with us." He'd toss the kid that bone. "But, I'll take Sammy in." He shook his head over at the younger man. "You can be around to pull us out. Just in case."

Michael frowned, but shrugged his acceptance. "Whatever, man."

They drove in silence for awhile.

"Hey, Dean?"

Dean raised an eyebrow at Michael.

"Do you think those hikers that disappeared got turned into kids?"

Dean sighed. "Yeah, probably. The timing is right."

"What do you think happened to them?" Michael's voice was hesitant.

Dean rolled his shoulders. The hikers hadn't been reported missing for almost a week after the full moon – they'd had a back country pass for the weeks on either side of the lunar change. Dean shivered. Two little children. Alone in that cave, wandering through the wilderness. Lost. Scared. There'd been no report of found kids. Or bodies.

He looked at Michael.

"I don't know," he said heavily. _Nothing good._

xxxx


	7. Chapter 7

_Changes, Chapter 7_

_xxxx_

"That's it?"

Luke's eyes went from Michael to Dean.

"That's your plan?"

Dean shrugged.

"We'll keep looking. But I don't know what else to do at this point."

Jo was frowning unhappily.

"You don't seem very sure," she said.

Dean shook his head. "I'm not. But we haven't been able to find anything else."

"The new moon's not for almost two more weeks," Luke said.

Dean sighed.

"Yeah." He bit his lip. "We should probably let you guys have your lives back. We can…"

Jo took his ear and gave it a twist.

"Ow!"

"That's what you get for talking nonsense," she said calmly.

Dean grinned, rubbing his earlobe gingerly. "Thanks," he said sincerely.

"I'll keep you busy," she assured him, and Michael grimaced along with Dean in anticipation.

The five of them sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts.

Outside, Tommy's excited voice was answered by Sam's animated chirps. There was a moment of ominous silence, followed by what sounded like Jake's thundering shout, and screams of laughter. Then pounding feet and the slamming of doors as the two younger boys hurled themselves into the kitchen, Sam flinging himself behind Dean, while Tommy skidded to a stop behind Luke. Both boys crouched low, hiding, breathless and giggling.

Jake stormed into the room, water dripping off his eyelashes and nose. He was soaked.

"I'm going to kill you both," he growled.

The boy stomped toward Tommy, who was dancing in terrified glee around Luke, trying to keep the bulky man between himself and his brother.

"Luke!" Tommy squealed.

His uncle raised an eyebrow at the boy.

"What?" he asked.

"Don't….!"

But it was too late. Jake had gotten a hold of him while Luke looked on blandly.

Jake began to drag his little brother toward the back door. The adults didn't change positions as Tommy cried out for help, scrabbling for anything to stop his progress, his feet slip-sliding on the dirty water Jake was dripping in his wake. The older boy turned as he hauled Tommy along, glowering at Sam.

"I'll be back for you in a minute," he ground out, yanking Tommy free of the countertop the boy had grabbed onto.

"Mom," Tommy screamed as he was pulled out of sight.

"Y'all're all cleaning up this kitchen when you're finished," Jo called after them.

"Yeah, yeah!" Jake shouted back over his brother's noisy protests as the screen door slammed behind him.

Dean looked around at Sam.

"You just gonna stand there?" he asked.

Eyes wide, Sam shook his head quickly and was gone like a shot.

xxxx

Luke rubbed an exhausted hand over his face as he sat in his truck outside the house. It had been a long couple of days searching the back country around the cave Sam had changed in. After Dean and Michael had presented Jo and him with the plan for turning Sam back into adult, Luke had known he needed to double check the search area that had been combed for those missing hikers weeks ago.

Michael and Dean had come with him, and they'd started from the cave, fanning out in the underbrush. It had been just past noon on the second day when he'd heard Michael's shout.

They'd called in the park rangers and spent the next few hours helping with the bodies and explaining how they'd found them. Luke had found himself oddly impressed by Dean's calm, regretful tale of camping and stumbling across the children. The solemn officials hadn't pushed back at him at all.

Luke sighed as he eased out of the truck. Michael and Dean were staying behind to see if anything useful came up in the investigation.

Making his way heavily into the family room, Luke got only a shout of warning before being hit solidly around the middle. He went down with a grunt. Tommy had been enthralled by Cato in the Pink Panther movies and had taken to jumping on Luke whenever the man least expected it. So far the kid hadn't managed to do any permanent damage, but Luke suspected that he'd have to put a stop to the ambushes soon.

Tired as he was, though, Luke still reacted quickly, wrapping long arms around the small body that had catapulted into him as he fell, twisting and trying to pin.

Tommy shrieked under him, wiry arms and legs squirming to get away, getting in sharp pokes, aiming for vulnerable ribs, knowing his usually placid uncle was surprisingly ticklish.

In the midst of the struggle, Luke was aware of Sam standing to the side laughing, out of reach, egging Tommy on. Giving his nephew a shove out of the way, Luke snaked out a hand to grab Sam's ankle, yanking the child into the fray.

Sam gave a startled yelp, landing on Luke. Taking advantage of Sam's surprise, Luke locked his arms around the boy, laughing when Sam bucked against him, breathless and giggling as he struggled. The boy had some moves, and Luke found himself using a fair amount of his vastly greater size to try to subdue Sam.

When Tommy jumped back in, Luke somehow managed to get a hold on that boy without losing his grip on Sam, and for a moment he held the two boys in his arms, warm and breathing and laughing. Alive.

_Small bodies. Huddled together. Fragile bones. _

"Ow!" Tommy protested when the stranglehold hug tightened, and Luke closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to huff out a laugh.

"Boys, let Luke alone."

Jo stood in the doorway, and Luke raised his eyes to her, saw the recognition on her face.

"Go set the table for me."

"Man!" Tommy complained, as he struggled out of Luke's loosened hold.

The three got to their feet, and Luke reached out a hand, smoothing it across Sam's tumbled hair, an ache in his chest when he smiled down at the bright face that turned up to his. Sam leaned easily into Luke, and then followed after Tommy who was grumbling toward the kitchen.

"You found them."

Jo was watching him. Her voice was tight.

He nodded and she moved across the room toward him.

"How long?"

"Weeks. Since before Sammy…" He sighed.

"Where are Michael and Dean?"

"They're going to stay for awhile, see what they can hear."

She nodded.

"Go take a shower before supper," she told him gently, and he laughed unsteadily, giving her a sidelong glance.

"Are you telling me I stink, woman?" he asked her.

She put her hand against his cheek, shaking her head at him.

"Just to wash off the day."

He nodded and leaned down to kiss her briefly.

"I'll be down in a minute."

"We'll be ready."

xxxx

"Did you find them?"

Sam had gotten quiet during supper, pushing the fish around on his plate, and he didn't raise his eyes from the fork he was using when he spoke.

Luke sighed when Jake and Tommy looked at him, too, questioning. When he glanced at his wife, she drew her brows down and shook her head almost imperceptibly. Luke didn't agree. He didn't answer Sam's question, but he didn't drop Jo's gaze either. She frowned at him. He frowned back.

"Fine," she said reluctantly. "Sammy, don't just play with that food. Eat it."

Obediently, Sam took a bite. But he wasn't deterred either. "Did you?"

"Yeah, we did," Luke said.

"Were they… are they OK?" he asked.

Luke was quiet for a minute before he answered.

"No. They weren't."

A silence settled over the table.

"Were they still kids?" This was from Jake.

"Yeah. They were."

"Is Dean staying to see if they figure anything out?"

Luke gave Sam a shrewd look. "Yeah."

"OK," Sam agreed softly.

Tommy was looking from one person to the other at the table.

"What happened?" he asked, voice breaking.

"Luke," Jo said, low warning.

He nodded. _No details._

"We didn't find them in time, buddy," he told Tommy gently. He looked over at Sam, who was studying his plate intently.

"They died?"

"Yes, they did." Jo was watching Tommy.

"How?" he asked, voice rising in curiosity and a sort of delighted horror. Luke saw Jo shake her head. _Boys._

"I don't know."

He didn't, although he suspected. _Thirst. Exposure. Just babies._

"They didn't have Dean."

Sam said it quietly, eyes coming up to meet Luke's. "They didn't have Dean to find them and make them safe."

Luke swallowed past the tightness in his throat.

"No, they didn't."

xxxx

Dean and Michael had gotten back the next day, nothing new to report, and Jo had set them all to mucking out the stable. Luke had grinned at the expressions on the faces of all five young men as Jo had explained the list she had of things for them to do.

From his place in one of the stalls, Luke turned to ask Sam a question just in time to see the boy collapse.

"Sammy!"

The kid had fallen to his knees, face to the floor, hands clutching at his head.

Luke dropped down beside him, pulling him close, trying to see into Sam's face.

"Kiddo?"

Moaning, Sam gasped, "Daddy."

Luke felt his blood freeze.

Tommy had crouched next to his uncle. "Luke?" he wavered.

"Go," Luke said shortly. "Get Dean."

Tommy raced away.

"Dean," Sam managed, body racked by tremors.

Luke tightened his arms around the shaking boy, maneuvering him onto his lap.

"He's coming, buddy," he whispered, starting to rock "Tommy's going to find him. Can you tell me what it is?" He smoothed a hand through Sam's hair.

Sam's head moved in negation, one hand letting go of his head to clutch at Luke's shirt.

Not knowing what else to do, Luke continued to hold Sam, murmuring low in an attempt to soothe the distraught child. Luke wasn't able to get Sam to say anything more, although he felt the shaking in the small body start to lessen. Sam leaned against him, huddling close.

Running footsteps brought Luke's head up, and he heard Sam's breath hitch in response.

"Dean."

Sam started to untangle himself from Luke, already reaching desperately toward his brother.

"What, Sammy?" Dean caught Luke's bewildered eyes, even as he pulled Sam toward him. "What's wrong?"

Shaking his head, Sam wrapped himself around Dean, curling into his brother's chest.

"Are you hurt?" Dean pulled back some. "Sam." He spoke sharply, fear hardening his voice. "Are you hurt?"

Sam shook his head, pressing his face into Dean's neck. Clueless, Dean sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged on the floor with Sam on his lap.

"Sammy, tell me what it is," Dean said softly. He was rubbing a hand in a slow circle on his brother's back. "Come on, kiddo."

Sam took a shuddering breath, let it out. "Daddy," he said brokenly. "Daddy's dead."

Blinking in shock, Dean stared at Luke.

"What?" he said. "Sammy…"

"Daddy's dead," he whispered again.

Dean wrapped his arms around his little brother and held on.

xxxx

There'd been no comforting Sam there. He'd just held on tightly and not made another sound. Finally Dean had picked Sam up and carried him into the house. He'd taken him back to their room and sat with him on the bed, not speaking until Sam lifted his head from Dean's chest.

"I remember," he whispered.

Dean eased Sam off his lap, but kept him tucked close to his side, arm wrapped around the boy.

He looked into his brother's upturned face.

"What do you remember?" he asked.

Sam blinked at him, tears leaking out the side of his eyes.

He said unsteadily, "Daddy was on the floor. And I wanted someone to help…."

Dean could see the fear on Sam's face, eyes unfocused and pupils dilated until only a slim ring of color was visible along the edges of his irises.

"You were hurt, too," his voice cracked.

Dean nodded, tightening his grip on his brother.

"It's OK, kiddo," he said gently.

"Dad," Sam said again, turning into Dean.

"I know, Sammy. I'm sorry." He pulled Sam to him again, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

And Sam started to cry, gasping sobs that didn't slacken until he'd fallen asleep, cradled in his brother's arms.

xxxx

A motion just to the left of Jo's field of vision turned her head toward the door into the family room. Sam stood just inside.

"Hey, sweetpea," she said softly.

Sam blinked at her, uncertain.

"Where's Dean?" he asked.

"He's just over at the motel, helping Luke with a plumbing emergency," she explained, giving him a small smile. "Are you OK? Do you want Tommy to go get him, baby?"

Tommy and Jake had each raised up on one elbow, turning to watch Sam from where they were sprawled on the floor in front of the TV. Tommy started to get to his feet, but Sam shook his head.

"'s OK," he whispered. He took a couple of hesitant steps into the room. His eyes went from the television to the boys to Jo and back to the boys.

"We're watching _E.T._," Jo said. "Do you want to watch with us?"

Sam had drifted further into the room and stood, wavering by the couch. His eyes were puffy from crying and he moved sluggishly, uncertain what to do.

"Do you want to get up here with me, sweetie?"

The slightly dazed look on Sam's face was one Jo was familiar with; one she'd seen for too long on the faces of her nephews after their parents had died—grief and fear and a terrible loss making once confident boys unsteady and hesitant.

Sam nodded and climbed onto the couch, moving close. Jo raised her arm slightly, and Sam slid toward her, pressing into her side. She let her arm fall around his shoulders, and kissed the top of his head as he leaned against her.

"It's OK, baby," she whispered into his hair. "It's going to be OK."

There was a shaky sigh from Sam, and a movement of his head that was probably an acknowledgement that she'd spoken, not an indication that he believed her. She raised her eyes to the silent boys on the floor. They dropped back onto their stomachs and the movie started up again.

If Dean was surprised to find Sam curled up on the couch with his head in Jo's lap, he didn't show it beyond a brief flicker of _something_ in his eyes before he sat down close to Sam's feet.

"Whatcha watchin'?" he asked, reaching out to curl a hand loosely around his brother's ankle.

Sam said nothing, but stretched his legs out, tucking his toes under Dean's thigh, body relaxing completely with his brother's touch.

xxxx

"You said that we would tell Dad what had happened, but Daddy's dead."

It was 5:30 in the morning the following day, and Sam said it quietly as Dean eased back into bed after a trip to the bathroom.

Dean closed his eyes, trying to marshal his thoughts.

"Yeah," he acknowledged softly, shifting so that he was on his back. Sam sat up next to him, sitting cross-legged in the narrow gap between Dean and the edge of the mattress. One knee pressed into Dean's chest, the other into his brother's hip. Sam had climbed into the bed with Dean not too long after they'd turned in.

"Why?" Sam asked. There wasn't any accusation in his tone, just a certain amount of bewilderment.

"Because," Dean started roughly. Stopped and cleared his throat. "Because I couldn't tell you that Dad was dead, Sammy. I… I didn't want you to know that as a little boy. You knew it as an adult, and I didn't want you to feel that pain when you were just a kid. Not when I thought I could get you turned back to you before you found out."

In the gray light of the bedroom, Dean saw Sam's move slowly up and down.

"Did Jo and Luke know that Dad was dead?"

"Yes."

There was a moment of silence.

"Did Tommy?"

Dean nodded his head. "Yeah, kiddo. He did."

"Everybody knew but me?"

Dean wasn't sure where his brother was going with this, but these were questions, hard as they were, that he was willing to answer.

"Yeah."

Sam drew his knees up, wrapping his arms around his legs.

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

Dean thought it must feel like a betrayal of sorts to his little brother.

"'s OK," the boy whispered. Dean put out a hand, reaching around to rub Sam's back.

After a minute, Sam lay down again, turning so that his back was against Dean's side, head resting on Dean's arm.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

A pause.

"Are there more bad things you don't want to tell me?" He asked it so quietly, Dean almost didn't hear him.

Dean felt his eyes sting against the trepidation in Sam's voice, and he raised his right hand to rub across them. He tightened his other arm around Sam.

"Yeah, Sammy, there are," he admitted.

Dean felt a tremor run through Sam and the nod of his brother's soft hair against his bicep. The boy curled small fingers around his brother's forearm.

"Do you think I'll remember them, too?"

Dean turned his head, pressing his lips against the top of Sam's head.

"I don't know," he breathed.

xxxx


	8. Chapter 8

_Changes__, Chapter 8_

_xxxx_

It turned out that the Sweeds' complicity in deceiving Sam weighed considerably more heavily against them than Dean's own lies did against him. And over the next couple of days, frightened and grief-stricken, Sam withdrew from the family. He attached himself to his brother again, uneasy and shaky when he was out of eye-range of Dean.

"You're his brother, Dean. And to him, he's only just met us." Luke shrugged. "He knows you lied to him, but he also knows that you love him and would do anything to protect him. He doesn't know that about us, and all he can see is the lies. Let's just give him some time." He wasn't unconcerned about Sam's changed attitude, but he was willing to give the boy some time to get his feet back under him.

Tommy, on the other hand, was devastated by Sam's withdrawal and desperate to get back in Sam's good graces. He'd hovered on the periphery of Sam and Dean's presence for hours, ignored by Sam and given sympathetic glances by Dean. Eventually, Tommy had wandered away, seeking out Jo's company, where he'd trailed after her unhappily, asking repeatedly in a tearful voice when she thought Sam might not be mad at him any more.

Jo had comforted him as best she could given her own uncertainty about how to heal this rift with Sam. She knew they all needed to apologize to Sam, but she didn't want to crowd him or demand something of the child he might not yet be ready or able to give.

It took Tommy a couple of days to work up the courage to broach the subject with Sam, but Dean overheard Tommy's halting apology, and watched the guarded look on Sam's face shift to an uncertain acceptance. By the end of the day, forgiveness seemed to be complete, and the two boys were thick as thieves again.

Sam could hold a grudge with the best of them, but when the other person admitted he was wrong, Sam's ability to let go surpassed even his tenacity in holding on to past injuries. Dean had experienced that forgiveness himself and had to acknowledge that one of the major reasons behind Sam's break with their father had come down to the fact that John had rarely been willing to admit that he'd been wrong. Even when he had been.

xxxx

"Sammy?"

Sam sat up from his slouch on the sofa, arms coming up to cross over his chest. His eyes darted to the doorway.

Jo sat gingerly on the edge of the couch next to him. She'd tried to give him some time, hadn't wanted to push, but he was avoiding her, and she couldn't take it any longer.

"Can I talk to you a minute?" she asked softly.

Sam had discovered the Looney Toons DVDs and was watching Bugs Bunny while the rest of the boys were occupied by other activities.

He shrugged at her uncertainly. Jo picked up the remote and pressed stop.

"I wanted to talk to you about your dad."

Sam bit his lip, blinking at her as he pushed himself up against the back of the couch. His eyes went to the doorway again. Looking for Dean.

She spoke as gently as she could, not wanting to make him feel cornered.

"I'm so sorry for lying to you about your Dad."

Sam swallowed hard, eyes suddenly swimming. He hunched his shoulders to his ears, keeping his focus on his hands, clenched in his lap. He didn't say anything for a minute, and Jo waited.

"'s OK," he finally mumbled.

Jo eased into the couch beside him. She watched him thoughtfully.

"Is it really?"

Sam sniffed and nodded. He turned his head, eyes finally coming up to meet hers.

She reached out and touched his hair tentatively. He didn't pull away, and she put an arm around him, tugging him closer. He inched toward her, submitting to the embrace.

"Thank you for being so forgiving," she said, voice breaking. "I know it hurt that we kept that from you."

She felt his shoulder shift against her side, tension easing, as he leaned into her.

"You love Sam, and you wanted to protect me," he said, like he was parroting something back at her. She wondered what Dean had been saying to him.

Jo swallowed and nodded, pressing her lips into his hair. He'd done what they all tended to do—talked about himself like he was both two people and one.

"Yes," she said. "We do love you, Sammy." Wanted him to know that they loved him as much as they loved his adult-self. "We thought maybe if you didn't remember…"

He nodded against her, not needing her to finish.

They sat in silence for awhile, Sam occasionally shaken by a shuddering sigh. But he nestled closer to her, and she kept her arm tight around him, thankful.

"Dean said there are other bad things."

Sam whispered it.

There was nothing to do but acknowledge the truth of that, much as it hurt.

"Yes," she said.

Sam didn't say anything else, and Jo sighed.

"There are more bad things, Sammy. But you, you and Dean, you've overcome them. And I think there are good things, too." She had no idea where to go with this. "Unfortunately, bad things happen. That's part of life."

Sam shifted against her.

"Why?" he asked.

_The eternal question_.

"Because we live in a fallen world," she said. "We live in a world where evil is real and wants to destroy us."

_Wow. That was cheery._

She huffed out a small laugh. "But there's good, too, baby. And ultimately, good will win." She looked down at him. He'd pulled away some and was watching her with a crease between his eyebrows.

"How do you know?"

She smiled at him. "Because that's what God says in the Bible."

He cocked his head to one side.

"Dean doesn't believe in God," he said. Like he was wondering if that settled the question.

Jo had her own questions about Dean's self-professed lack of faith, but she didn't challenge him.

"What do you believe?"

Sam frowned uncertainly. "I don't know." He bit his lip, looking at her through his lashes. "Pastor Jim says that God is real and that He loves us. Even when bad things happen."

She nodded. The boys had talked to her some about Pastor Jim, another friend lost.

"Pastor Jim sounds like a wise man," she said with a smile. She smoothed her hand over his head, looking into his upturned face. "I believe there is a God, too, and that He is good—even though it doesn't seem that way sometimes." She continued to play with his hair, threading her fingers through the tousled curls, its silky fineness somehow representing Sam's innocence to her in that moment. "And I believe that in the midst of all this, God's got a plan and that its one that will ultimately win. It's what gives me hope. Even when it feels like things can't get any worse." And she'd had her share of those moments in her life.

Sam looked at her thoughtfully for a minute, and then with a sigh slumped back against her.

"Can we watch cartoons?" he asked, turning his head toward the television.

Jo laughed and picked up the remote.

"Sure."

xxxx

Dean woke to Sam crawling under the covers with him.

"Sammy." His voice was rough with sleep, and he shifted over to give his little brother room. "What's up, kiddo?"

Sam didn't respond, just tucked into a ball beside him, back trembling along Dean's side, clutching Dean's arm close to his chest.

Dean rolled toward the boy, wrapping himself around his brother's shaking body. "Bad dream?" he asked sleepily against Sam's hair.

He felt Sam's head move in confirmation against his bicep.

The dreams had started after Sam had remembered Dad's death, and mostly Dean had attributed that to his brother's grief. They were formless nightmares as far as Sam could tell Dean. Nothing to remember – just "scary" and "dark."

"My head hurts."

The whisper, tight and wavering, made Dean's stomach clench.

"Yeah?" He reached over to turn on the bedside lamp. Sam's face was drawn in the pale light, and Dean pushed damp bangs off Sam's forehead.

Sam brought his hand up to shield his eyes and nodded painfully.

Dean eased his arm out from under Sam's head and slid off the bed. He found the Children's Tylenol in the bathroom, and padding back into the room, poured a dose.

"Come on, tiger." He put a hand under Sam's shoulder and propped him up. "Swallow this down for me." Sam put up a shaky hand to take the plastic cup, but Dean left his hand where it was, guiding the medicine to his brother's mouth.

Once he'd finished, Sam leaned limply against Dean, who inched back until he was sitting against the headboard with his little brother hunched beside him, Sam's cheek against his stomach.

"Sammy."

The boy made a soft noise, not wanting to speak, but Dean pressed, moving gentling fingers through Sam's hair.

"Sammy," he said again. "Do you remember anything from the dream?" Headaches had always meant visions.

Sam didn't say anything for a minute, but his hand took hold of Dean's t-shirt, fingers twisting into the soft fabric.

"Dad was mad," he finally managed. The boy's voice was taut with fear and confusion. "And I… I was yelling at him."

The words were almost inaudible, like Sam was afraid someone other than Dean might hear this confession that he'd talked back to their father.

"I said I was … I was … leaving," he gulped, "and Dad… Daddy said …."

Sam was crying now, bewildered by the rage and hate he'd felt through his dream, not understanding how he could ever want to leave—leave Dad, leave Dean—terrified by his father's vicious, unyielding words.

_We're done. _

_Don't come back._

Dean shut his eyes, pulling Sam closer. Not a vision, then. But more remembering. First Dad's death, now his split from the family. How much longer until it was Jess? Jess on the ceiling. Nine-year-old Sam_Sammy_ watching her burn.

"I don't want to remember any more," Sam sobbed against him. "I don't want to remember."

xxxx

The last days of the month passed without more remembering, and Dean breathed a silent prayer of thanks as he packed their belongings into the trunk of the Impala. They were leaving this morning – the new moon the next evening – Michael joining them for the trip back to the cave. Dean wanted to spend tonight in the cave as well as tomorrow and the next night if necessary – just to make sure. Plus, it hadn't been night when Sam had changed before, so there was a chance he might change back during the day as well. Dean was beyond frustrated with the uncertainty of this solution, but didn't know what else to do.

Jo stood on the bottom step, watching them load up, teeth worrying at her lower lip.

"You'll call us when you get there?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you've got everything you need?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are you sure? Dean, I…."

"Jo." Dean slammed the trunk closed. "It's going to be OK. When we get back, Sammy'll be Sam again."

He shifted his attention to the porch swing.

"Sammy—let's go!"

Tommy and Sam, who had been rocking the chair crazily, legs pumping at odd intervals, made awkward leaps off the swing, staggering as they hit the porch, steadying themselves before they ran toward Dean.

"I wanna go," Tommy said again.

"No," from Jo and Dean and Luke and Michael.

Jo caught Sam's arm as he tried to sprint past her.

"Give me a hug," she ordered, pulling him toward her. And Sam flung his arms around her neck, squeezing fiercely, almost throttling her in his enthusiasm.

"I love you," she said.

The stranglehold tightened impossibly.

"I love you, too."

Jo took a stumbling step when Sam released her and was caught by Dean. She hugged him, too.

"If it doesn't work, we'll figure something out," she whispered to him. He snorted softly and pulled back, giving her his cockiest grin.

"Oh, it's gonna work."

She laughed and gave him a shove.

Michael had known he'd be next, so as Luke helped Dean herd Sam into the car, he let Jo pull him close. Jake had Tommy in a head-lock to keep the boy from climbing into the back seat after Sam.

"Be careful."

"I will," he said.

"And take care of them."

He grinned at her, pleased that she'd given him that responsibility.

"I will."

As Michael slid into the passenger seat, Luke closed the driver's side door, sticking his hand through the open window to shake Dean's hand. He had a commitment he couldn't escape that night, but was planning on driving out early the following day.

"I'll see y'all tomorrow morning." He glanced across at his nephew, then peered at Sam in the back seat. "See you soon, buddy."

Sam waved at him.

"Bye."

xxxx

They stayed at the same motel they'd been in the month before. If the clerk recognized Dean from the previous trip, he didn't give any sign, barely looking up from the Louis L'Amour he was reading as Dean got them registered.

They unpacked Michael's stuff, leaving the camping gear in the trunk. The plan at the moment was for the three of them to head for the cave, Michael hanging out at the entrance while Dean and Sam went in.

"So, I'm just sitting there, waiting?" Michael was slouched in the passenger seat on the way to the park, feeling put out to be missing all the action.

"Yeah. Just stay there. I'll come out before the sun goes down and give you an update. Then you can come back and stay at the motel."

"Why can't I camp out by the cave?" he asked.

"Because," Dean said again, patience starting to slip, "we don't have a permit and if a ranger catches you and detains you, we won't have back-up."

"What's he going to detain me for? He'll just let me go, and I can sneak… "

"We don't know that," Dean interrupted him. "If he does detain you, for whatever reason, Sammy and I could be stuck and …."

"OK, OK," Michael finally agreed, scowling out the front windshield. "You got the note?"

"Yeah." Dean patted his pocket. He'd written himself a note—"You've been cursed by a spirit. Stay put. Someone's coming"—just in case he turned. He'd written one for Sammy, too. He and Sam would leave a trail for Michael to follow into the cave if they weren't there to meet him in the morning.

God, he hated feeling like he was winging it with Sammy at risk.

"What am I supposed to do?" Sam asked from the back seat.

Dean bit back a sigh, and smiled tightly at his little brother in the rearview mirror.

"Stick with me, OK, kiddo? Your only job is to turn back into a grown-up."

Sam bit his lip. "OK." He worried at his bottom lip with his teeth for a minute.

"Hey, Dean?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yeah?" Dean glanced quickly over his shoulder.

"Where will I go when Sam is back?"

Dean paused, exchanged a puzzled look with Michael.

"What?" He needed clarification.

"When I'm big again. Where will little me go?" He paused. "Will I be dead?"

Dean shook his head decisively, reached an arm back over the seat to put a hand on Sam's knee.

"No, Sammy. You won't be dead, kiddo." He pulled onto the side of the road, bringing the car to a stop. He turned fully toward the back. Sam was watching him with wide eyes.

"I won't?" he whispered.

"No, of course not."

"Where will I be then?"

"Sammy, you'll still be you. You'll just be a grown-up. Like I'm still me. I'm still the fourteen year old brother you remember, I've just lived longer than he had. I still have all his memories and stuff."

"Will I remember?"

Sam had unbuckled his seatbelt and scooted forward until his arms were across the back of the seat. His chin rested on his crossed forearms.

Dean sighed.

"I don't know, kiddo," he admitted.

"If I don't remember…," he was looking at Dean with almost frightened eyes, "how will I still be me?"

Dean gave Michael a startled look. Michael's eyes widened with not-knowing and relief that he wasn't the one being asked.

Dean was quiet for a minute.

"If you don't remember, Sammy, I will," he said finally, softly, eyes solemn as they met Sam's. "Michael will. Tommy and Jake and Jo and Luke will. We'll remember for you."

Sam didn't say anything for a long minute, just watched his brother, processing.

"OK?" Dean asked gently.

"OK," Sam said, and he sat back to put on his seatbelt.

xxxx


	9. Chapter 9

_Changes__, chapter 9_

_xxxx_

The first night was a bust.

Uncertainty and discomfort and a weird sort of fear had kept them up all night, Sammy wired and clingy, Dean unsettled and brusque. By the time Dean's watch went off telling him it was morning, they were both exhausted and grouchy. Disappointment in Sam's not having changed back manifested itself in Dean's snapping impatiently over something stupid at Sam, who had responded by bursting into angry, frustrated tears. It had been a long, seething walk out into the morning sun.

Sam stomped out of the cave first, scowling at Michael's cheerful greeting and hurling his small body into one of the camp chairs the older boy had set up. He mumbled a greeting to Luke, and accepted the bottle of juice he was handed with a grudging, "Thanks."

"You're here earlier than I thought you'd be," Dean grunted as he dropped into the chair on the other side of Luke.

"Nothing happened, huh," Michael said, pulling up a collapsible camp stool.

Twin glares of "no duh" from the Winchester brothers put a stop to Michael's early morning chattiness.

Understanding, Luke pulled out a thermos and a large Styrofoam cup. He poured coffee while Dean watched him greedily, both hands reaching for the offering before Luke had even finished pouring. Luke pulled the cup back and smiled at Dean's distraught moan when the caffeine moved out of reach.

"Can you speak like a human being?" Luke teased before relenting and handing the steaming coffee to Dean.

Dean growled at him.

Luke laughed, throwing foil wrapped breakfast tacos into Sam's lap and then Dean's.

Sam made a happy sound as he tore into the food, and Luke saw some of the tension seep out of Dean's shoulders.

"Sorry," the younger man mumbled as he took another careful gulp of coffee. "Neither of us slept last night." He scrubbed a hand through his short hair then set his coffee carefully down between his feet and opened his first taco.

He took a huge bite. "Thanks," he said, voice muffled by the tortilla, bits of potato and egg falling into his lap when he spoke.

"I figured you boys would need some sustenance – whether Sam had changed or not." He cut a quick glance at Sam, who was devouring his food at an alarming rate. Luke tossed another taco at the boy, who yelped excitedly as he caught it.

_Kind of like feeding the dolphins at SeaWorld_, Luke thought to himself.

"I couldn't sleep when I got home last night, so I figured I'd come on out."

Luke turned back to Dean, responding to Dean's initial comment finally.

Dean nodded and looked hopefully at the brown paper bag that had produced the tacos. Luke rustled around in its depths and produced another handful of tacos. He gave Dean a couple more tacos and two to Michael. He felt a twinge of jealousy at the metabolism of the young. Luke had gained almost 20 pounds after he married Jo before he realized he shouldn't be eating at the same rate as the teenaged boys in his house.

"So what's the plan?"

Luke had waited until all the food was gone, and Dean had had another cup of coffee before he inquired.

Dean gave the entrance of the cave a disgusted look.

"Back in, I guess."

Another however many hours – counting them would only depress him further – in the dark with a bored 9-year-old made Dean want to drink heavily. Sam had wandered away after he'd finished eating, Michael trailing after him, wanting to explore, and Dean let his frustration show.

"We're going to be lucky if I don't kill him before he changes back." He gave a heavy sigh. "If he changes back."

Luke nodded. "I know it's disappointing that he didn't change last night, but we really didn't expect that, did we?" He put a hand on Dean's shoulder and gave it a rough shake.

Dean shrugged. "Yeah." He stared at the cave. "But you're not going to be the one trapped in there with him while he bounces off the walls. And talks. All the time."

Luke laughed at Dean's glum expression, and pulled another bag toward him. "Look. I know you know this. But he's scared and nine and, you know, male, so he can't express that except in movement and trying to drive people around him crazy."

Dean snorted. "Yeah."

"And I know it seems like a long time, but it's only a few more hours." He dropped the comforting hand off Dean's shoulder. "Just try to remember that you're the adult. And that patience is a virtue."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Right."

Luke opened the bag at his feet.

"I brought you some stuff."

Dean leaned over to look. There were games—cards and checkers and…

"A jump rope? Dude, he's not a girl."

Luke raised an eyebrow at him.

"I got Tommy _and Jake_ to spend hours jumping rope one afternoon when Jo was gone. Kept 'em occupied. And alive."

Dean was impressed in spite of himself. He looked the question at Luke.

"Found out what the world record was for jumping rope straight without a break and bet them they couldn't do it." He was incredibly smug.

"They fell for that?"

"I'm not some amateur, dude," Luke scoffed. It hadn't been an easy sell with Jake, that was for sure, but eventually….

Dean grinned.

"Wear him out," Luke said. "I have confidence in your abilities."

"What's that?"

Sam and Michael had come back, and Sam dropped next to the duffel.

Luke smiled when he met Dean's eyes over Sam's head.

"Just some games for y'all to play."

Sam looked unhappy.

"Do we have to go back in?" Dean could hear the tremor in Sam's voice, not a whine, but anxiety. He reached out a hand and placed it flat on Sam's back.

"Yeah, kiddo."

Sam turned to Dean, sitting back on his heels.

Dean gave him a sympathetic look. "I know it sucks, dude, but we gotta be in there."

With a heavy sigh, Sam nodded his head. He started to root around in bag.

"A jump rope?"

Luke grinned.

"Yeah. In case you need to tie Dean up or something."

Sam giggled, eyeing his brother.

"Or," Luke said casually, "did Tommy ever tell you he beat Jake in doing the most jumps in a row?"

"He did?" Sam's face was bright with curiosity. "How many times?"

Dean bit his lip at the gleam in Sam's eyes.

Luke was keeping a carefully straight face. He looked over at his nephew, who was standing awkwardly to the side.

"Do you remember how many times, Michael?" Drawing him into the ruse.

Michael's eyes went from his uncle to Dean, face beginning to light up when he realized what they were doing. The boy really shouldn't play poker any time soon.

"500? Or 600?" Michael offered. "I can't remember exactly. It was a lot, though."

Sam pulled the rope clear of the bag, taking a grip in each hand, starting to shake it out.

"I bet I could…"

Dean caught the rope as it started to swing.

"We'll do it inside, OK, Sammy?"

Nodding enthusiastically, Sam stuffed the rope back into the bag.

"OK! And you can count for me, right, Dean? And when we get back…"

Luke smirked at Dean. _Mission accomplished._

xxxx

Jo peered at the thread through her glasses, trying to tease the stitches out of the hem in the pair of pants in her lap. If she could coax just a little more length out of these trousers, she might be able to put off buying…

"Mama?"

"Yes, my love?"

Jo asked it absently. There might be just enough fabric to…

"What if I don't want Sammy to get big again?"

Tommy's question, quiet and mumbled, startled Jo out of her concentration. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jake's head come up from the book he was reading. She looked at her youngest nephew.

"Don't you?" she asked gently. Luke had called that morning to let them know that Sam hadn't changed the night before. She realized now the real reason why Tommy had dropped his head and left the room – she'd thought he'd been disappointed.

Tommy shook his head, hung it so low his chin was almost on his chest. She'd been so focused on what she'd been doing, she hadn't noticed when he'd climbed up on the sofa next to her.

She put her mending to the side and turned so that she was facing him. He looked forlorn, hunched over in unhappiness and, she suspected, guilt.

"You'll miss having him to play with, huh?" she said, beginning to understand.

He nodded, eyes not meeting hers.

"Well," she started. She noticed that Jake was watching and wondered what he thought about Sam going back to his regular size. She wasn't sure how to comfort Tommy. Because there wasn't any doubt things would be different for him once Sam was an adult again.

"I hope you didn't _pray_ that Sammy wouldn't change back, dude," Jake said suddenly with a hint of maliciousness, "because it would be really selfish to ask God not to…."

"Jake!" Jo cut him off sharply and caught Tommy's stricken look. _Wonderful_.

Jake had the grace to look shame-faced when he saw Tommy's reaction; though it didn't stop him from trying to defend himself. "I was just…"

"That's enough," Jo snapped. He glowered at her. She gave him a hard look back, and he dropped his head.

"…such a baby," came muttering from his direction.

Jo gave Jake an incredulous look.

"What has gotten into you?" she asked, exasperation. He didn't answer her, and she pointed to the door. "Go to the kitchen and wait for me."

Slamming his book down, with a last sullen glare at Tommy, Jake slouched out of the room.

Blinking huge tear-filled eyes at her, Tommy whispered, "I didn't mean…."

"Baby." She reached over to pull the boy close to her. "Of course, you didn't. Jake was only teasing, honey. Don't let him…"

"But I kind of did pray… I…."

"Sweetheart." She said it firmly. "God knows what your heart is. Even if you did want Sam to stay young with you, I know that deep down, what you really want is what's best for Sam." She gave him a squeeze. "Don't you?"

He nodded unsteadily.

"Of course you do—you love him." She gave him a couple of seconds to think about that before she continued. "Honey, sometimes we have selfish feelings. Do you think God's going to act on you wanting to keep Sam with us if He knows that's not what's best for Sam?"

Tommy shook his head. "No," he whispered.

"Of course, He's not." She looked down at him and kissed him lightly on the nose when he tilted his face up to hers. "Lucky for all of us, God knows better than to give us what we ask for sometimes," she said with a smile.

She felt the tension in her nephew's posture ease, and he leaned back against her. They sat comfortably together for a few minutes before he turned to her again.

"So," he said curiously. "Is Jake in trouble?"

xxxx

"What in the _world_, Jacob?" She stood with arms folded over her chest, just across the threshold into the kitchen. Jake was sitting on the counter, back pressed into the corner, scowling.

"I was only kidding. Jeez, he's such a…"

"If you use the word 'baby,' you're going to regret it," she warned him, and Jake snapped his mouth shut. She'd been the little sister and had hated being called a baby with a passion. She'd vowed not to tolerate that name-calling in her own home.

"And watch it with the 'jeez,' young man," she added. Of all the boys, Jake had the ability to press her buttons like nobody's business.

He rolled his eyes.

"It's a contraction for Gee. Whiz. _Mom_," he said in the tone of voice he knew made her crazy. And, of course, he was the one who only used "mom" when he was mad at her.

"Jacob," she said, trying to maintain some degree of control.

"What?" It burst from him, challenging, daring her to engage with him. He was looking at her with a belligerent expression she realized she hadn't seen in awhile. And it gave Jo pause.

"What?" he insisted again when she didn't say anything. He faltered, uncertain in the face of her silence.

She was watching him carefully.

"Tell me what's wrong," she finally said.

And to her amazement Jo saw tears start into his eyes. Then he blushed crimson, embarrassed and angry.

"Nothing!" he said.

Such a lie.

"Jake, what?"

"Nothing," he said again, but with less hostility.

"Baby," she started and was surprised when Jake's eyes met hers, humor just under the surface.

"It's OK for me to say it you, because I'm not using it to insult you," she defended herself, got a small smile in return, as she moved closer.

"Sweetheart, tell me what it is."

"Nothing." He was shaking his head, and his voice was almost a whine. "It's just…" His face turned an impossible shade of red, and he stopped. "It's stupid. I…."

She'd gotten close enough to touch him, and she reached out to rest a hand on his leg.

"Jacob." She used her best stop-being-an-idiot-and-tell-me-what-it-is voice. For whatever reason, her middle nephew almost always responded to that particular tone.

And he did now, shrugging slightly, not meeting her eyes.

"I don't know. Michael's all helping Dean figure things out, and Tommy's playing with Sammy all the time. I just…." He trailed off.

Jo felt her throat close in recognition of the tightness in Jake's voice. He was jealous. And hurt. She hadn't even noticed that Jake had been left out—Dean and Michael doing the big brother—the grown-up—thing, while Tommy and Sam consolidated the little brother position. Jake in the middle, all by himself.

He missed his brothers. And, she suspected, thought they didn't miss him.

She nodded when he raised his head and looked at her. She could see the shame and insecurity in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Jakey," she said. He lifted his shoulder.

"It's stupid."

"No, it's not."

He sighed. "I'll tell Tommy I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

He swung his feet off the edge of the counter and dropped down.

"Sweetheart."

He stopped at the door, turned to look at her.

"They love you so much."

A muscle jumped in Jake's jaw, and he nodded his head, humoring her.

"Yeah," he whispered and left the room.

xxxx

Sam came awake with a start, freezing into stillness at the realization that he wasn't in his bed. Cool, rough dirt under his cheek, the musty smell of earth and damp. He felt a sharp stab of almost blinding fear. He didn't know where he was.

_Dean…._

He reached out, panicking, a cry about to escape when his fingers came into contact with solid flesh just inches away. His fist curled into the soft warmth of flannel.

"Dean?" Sam clutched at the body, lurching toward it, felt muscle jump under his touch.

"Mmmph." Sudden movement. "Sammy?" Sharp, worried, a shift and an answering grab at Sam.

"Dean!" The sound that came out might have been a sob, and the hand that had touched him tried to pull him close.

"Are you OK?" Dean's voice was anxious, but then the grip on Sam's shoulders suddenly stilled, fingers splaying, tightening carefully. "Sammy?"

"Yeah?" Sam's voice was deep and rough with sleep. Sam blinked, cleared his throat. "Dean?" Low, gravelly.

The hold on his arms released, and there was a scratch before the lantern flared to life.

Dean's face was illuminated in the glow, eyes dark.

"Sam."

Dean's voice was a whisper, a slow smile blooming.

Sam looked down at his legs—long—folded awkwardly under him, bare below his shorts; he moved his eyes over to his hands—wide palmed—still clutching Dean's shirt; let go to bring them up to skim over his arms—ropey muscles—touch the belly—hard—under the t-shirt Dean had made him put on the night before.

Sam raised his eyes to his brother.

"Dude," he breathed.

"Dude," Dean answered, grinning so hard Sam thought the top of his head might fall off. "You're back."

Sam laughed in sudden relief, realizing that the spike of terror that had gripped him just moments before had receded with a rush.

"Yeah," he agreed.

Sam took a shuddering breath and the world spun. He reached out wildly, heard Dean shift toward him even as Sam's hand made contact with his brother's chest, felt Dean's palm, familiar and warm, against his cheek.

"Sammy?"

"I'm OK," Sam said, head hanging. But Dean scooted closer, hand moving from Sam's cheek to the nape of his neck. Sam's forehead dropped against Dean's shoulder. "I'm OK."

Sam's fist tangled in the fabric of his brother's shirt.

"Yeah?" Fingers moved up into the hair at the back of Sam's head. Dean's tone was doubtful.

"Yeah," Sam said. "I just…" He made himself take steadying breaths, closing his eyes. "Give me a minute."

Dean didn't say anything, but his silence seemed to be agreement. The hands on Sam's head and shoulder stayed where they were, solid comfort.

Finally Sam sat back, pushing the hair off his face as he did. His brother's hand slid off his head, but stayed, steadying on his shoulder.

"You OK?" Dean's eyes were narrowed as they studied him in the pale yellow circle of light cast by the lantern.

"Yeah," Sam reassured him. "I am." He shook his head. "It just… It was like, I don't know, all the memories kind of rushing together, or something. It was a little … disorienting, I guess."

Dean nodded, scrutinizing Sam closely.

"You remember?"

Sam nodded.

"Everything?"

Sam thought about it. "Yeah, I think."

It wasn't just the memories, though.

It was the emotions, too, and Sam felt strangely caught between his adult self and his 9-year-old self. Seesawing between the self-assurance of a grown-man, comfortable with his body and abilities, and the fear of a child, vulnerable, desperate for the safety of brother's presence. One second fine to stand on his own, the next wanting to crawl into Dean's lap, seeking reassurance and comfort.

And that wasn't creepy. At all. He shuddered.

Dean nodded, even as the hand on Sam's shoulder moved, trying to soothe.

"Can you stand up?"

Dean climbed to his feet and looked down at Sam critically. Sam snorted.

"Yeah," he said sarcastically. "I think I can manage that."

And instead of rolled-eyes or a cuff on the side of his head, he got a laugh.

"Smart-ass," Dean said amiably, still reaching out hand ready to steady his brother as Sam pulled himself up. He wavered slightly and shot a glance at Dean, expecting his brother to comment. But Dean didn't, just watched as Sam took a couple of careful steps.

"You got the hang of those beanpoles again, there, Stretch?"

Not so sharp now, Sam nodded.

"Yeah, I think. You got the rest of my clothes?"

Dean was already pulling out Sam's jeans and a shirt and a pair of sneakers.

Sam's stomach rumbled insistently, and without pause, Dean threw him a handful of breakfast bars and a baggie of homemade biscuits.

"Luke said they'd get us something to eat on their way up."

Hungrily, Sam stuffed an entire biscuit into his mouth as he pulled up his pants.

"You think he'll bring coffee?" he managed around a bite as he dropped back to the floor of the cave to put on his shoes.

"He did yesterday," Dean said, rolling up their bedding and stuffing it into the packs.

Sam scowled suddenly at his brother. "I can't believe you wouldn't let me have coffee while I was little."

Dean's grin was evil. "You were a _child_, dude. And you only asked that one time because I was having it. Besides, it might have stunted your growth." He paused and looked at Sam consideringly. "Hmmmm."

Sam threw a biscuit at Dean who caught it before it clocked him on the forehead.

Now Dean laughed as he rose. "Maybe I should have introduced you to smoking."

Shoes on, Sam got to his feet and raised himself to his full height, extending himself so that he loomed over his brother.

"What was that, Shorty?"

Dean gave him a long, blank stare, and Sam really should have realized what was about to happen, but he'd been a kid for almost a month.

So when Dean's foot swept his legs out from under him, Sam was completely unprepared and flat on his back with his brother's knees pressed into his biceps before he was even fully aware he was no longer upright.

"I should have been so much meaner to you when I had the chance," Dean said regretfully, right before he rubbed his knuckles—hard—across Sam's sternum.

The shriek that escaped Sam sounded remarkably like he was nine again, and he was laughing as he rolled under Dean, trying to escape.

"Stop!" he yelled.

"Make me, little man," Dean goaded him.

The fight that followed was breathless and full of easy slaps and parries, muffled insults and snorts of laughter. In the end, Dean was victorious, pinning his brother to the cave floor. After Sam grudgingly admitted defeat, they lay on their backs, staring up at the stony roof arching above them.

Dean turned his head to look at his brother.

"Welcome back, Sammy."

xxxx


	10. Chapter 10

_Changes_ _chapter 10_

Dean and Sam met Luke and Michael at the entrance to the cave, and Sam leaned into the welcoming hugs, reveling in the happy smiles, and pounding of fists on his back. Dean's grin had remained fixed in place since they'd realized Sam was himself again, and he'd returned Luke's and Michael's congratulatory embraces almost as enthusiastically as they were given.

There'd been no lore on how to appease or get rid of the trickster spirit, so they'd decided that the best thing to do was close the cave entrance. Luke had gotten enough explosives to bring the rocks over the opening down, and the four men got to work setting the charges. Luke hadn't offered how he'd gotten the dynamite, and Dean hadn't asked.

Michael was grinning when he looked over at Dean and Sam crouched next to him as Luke ran the fuse from the cave's entrance toward the sheltered spot they'd found.

"Jake and Tommy are going to be so _pissed_ when I tell them we got to blow something up," he gloated. Sam nodded his agreement excitedly, eyes wide in anticipation, and Dean reached out a hand to push his brother's head down. Sam ducked obediently and Dean tugged on Michael, too, until the boy bent down to an acceptable level.

The explosion itself was a satisfying "whump" of ear-shattering noise with an impressive accompanying spatter of pelting rocks and debris. When the dust settled, Luke and Dean declared the entrance sufficiently impassable.

It was hard not to be nervous as the group made its way back to the car, keeping an eye out for curious or investigating hikers. But they passed no one on the trail, and when they reached the truck, all four men crammed into the cab.

"Huh," said Luke trying to reach the gear shift around Michael. "I guess I didn't really think this through."

"Ya think?" asked Dean, Sam's elbow digging into his diaphragm and the window crank poking painfully into his back. Sam just grunted, trying to fold his legs into a position where the air-conditioning vents in the dash wouldn't do permanent damage to his knees.

Michael yelped when Luke finally managed to slam the truck into reverse.

"Oops." Luke's voice was strained. "Sorry about that."

It was a long ride back to the motel.

xxxx

Jo watched the Impala and Luke's truck roll through the motel's parking lot toward the house in back. She moved out from behind the register, heading for home.

"Marge! I'm out!" she called. From the kitchen she heard the other woman's acknowledgement.

Jo hurried toward the house and saw Jake and Tommy coming around the side. They were walking more slowly than she would have thought possible just yesterday, but that made sense now, knowing that both boys were struggling with everything that had happened.

Both vehicles stopped near the porch, and Jo smiled to see Luke and Michael hop of the truck. Jake and Tommy went to them first, watching the black of the Winchesters' car uncertainly. Not sure, Jo thought, what to expect.

As Dean and Sam climbed more slowly out of the Impala, Luke hooked an elbow around the Tommy's neck, walking him toward to the other car. Jake hung back.

Sam noticed Jo first, unfolding to his impossible height as he turned toward her, laughing almost shakily as he hugged her. Jo held him fiercely, swallowing back the ache she suddenly felt for the boy he'd been.

"Welcome home, Sam." She pulled away, putting her hand to his face, shaking her head at the grown man in front of her. "We missed you," she said.

"You had me for a whole month," he said with a grin. He was watching her with an odd, hesitant look—open smile and shy uncertainty—childlike and hopeful. It almost stole her breath.

"Yeah," she breathed, reaching up to hug him again. "But not the same." She felt the tremor in his shoulders as he returned the embrace.

He straightened and turned from her to Tommy, who leaned against his uncle, brows knit as he watched his friend.

"Hey, Tommy."

Sam paused, not sure either, but his eyes were alight with mischief and secrets shared.

Tommy took a step forward and then launched himself at Sam, who caught him easily, swinging him around. Sam held the boy tight, then whispered something his ear that made Tommy giggle and press his face into Sam's shoulder. They both turned to Jake. That boy squared his shoulders, eyes narrowing warily.

Sam let Tommy slide to the ground as he approached Jake.

"Welcome back," Jake said gruffly.

"Thanks, man," Sam said, holding out his hand with a grin. Jake took it carefully, and Sam punched him gently in the shoulder.

"Dude, I think maybe Tommy and I owe you an apology," Sam said with a rueful smile and a glance down at his partner-in-crime. "We kinda ganged up on you, didn't we?"

Jake blinked in surprise, eyes going to Jo and then Tommy.

"Sorry, Jakey," Tommy said, and Jake rolled his eyes, shrugging. But Jo saw the pleasure on his face as he muttered, "Whatever."

Dean sidled up next to Jo.

"See?" he said. "Told you I'd fix it."

She turned to him and smiled. "Yes, you did." She gave him a hug. "Well done."

It was almost lunch time, so they all made their way toward the kitchen, the travelers trailing equipment and dirty clothes as they went. They'd been gone less than 48 hours, and it baffled—though it didn't surprise—her that they'd managed to get everything they'd taken with them filthy.

"So, what happened?"

They had gathered around the table, and Jo set Jake and Tommy to work pulling out sandwich-fixings as she set plates at each place.

"Well." The men at the table looked around at each other until Dean finally continued. "After it didn't work that first night, Sammy and I went back into the cave to sit out the next day."

"Didja just sit there?" Tommy asked. Carelessly, he slammed a couple of condiment bottles onto the table, and Jo winced in anticipation of shattering glass at the force with which he set them down.

Sam shrugged and kind of smiled at his brother.

"Played games and stuff," he offered.

Luke was struggling to keep a straight face.

"Did you use the jump rope?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah. How many times did I jump, Dean?" He sounded like a child for a moment, then frowned and cleared his throat. "I kept trying to…" he trailed off, brow wrinkling.

"How many times?" Tommy asked excitedly. "I beat Jake that time, 'member Jake?"

Jake rolled his eyes. "Who cares?" He slid a plate of sliced tomatoes across the table.

"You're just mad because I won," Tommy said smugly. "'member, Luke? You bet us we couldn't…"

"Yeah, Dean bet me…." Sam's eyes narrowed at his brother, who was giving him a wide-eyed look.

"You _jerk_!" Sam cried suddenly, getting it.

Dean threw his head back and howled.

"'Watch, Dean, watch!'" he trilled. "' I can do more next time. Count again!'"

Luke and Michael had their heads on the table, shoulders shaking.

"Sammy, you were so easy." Dean was wiping at his eyes.

Sam threw a napkin at him.

Tommy looked from Sam to Dean in confusion.

Jake happened to be standing next to his uncle. He stared balefully down at the man. "Dude," he said disapprovingly. "You suck."

Luke reached up to cuff the boy lightly on the back of the head. "Watch your language," he said mildly. Then, "Sorry," with an apologetic grin.

"What?" Dean defended himself. "It wore you out and got you to sleep, didn't it? Another night like the one before, and I'd've killed you."

Sam scowled. "Whatever, man."

"So, how'd it happen?" Jo asked, trying to distract them.

Dean shrugged. "Don't really know. We both fell asleep, and when we woke up…"

Jo frowned, and Dean went on.

"I'm guessing you had to be unconscious. Sam had fallen initially, and that could've knocked him out." He looked at his brother. "Sometimes we just don't know."

"Hmph," she said unhappily. "How're we going to keep it from happening to other people?"

"Well."

Luke scratched the back of his head, squinting at her. "We blew up the cave."

There was a stunned silence.

"You what?" Jo asked incredulously.

The four men at the table looked slightly guilty for a second before huge, self-satisfied grins blossomed on their faces.

"It was _awesome_," Michael breathed.

"Man!" Jake said indignantly. "That is _so_ not fair!"

"Luke," Jo started.

"Honey, it was the only way we could think to stop people from going in there," he tried to explain.

"What if it's not tied to the cave?" she asked.

"Luke's going to keep an eye out for missing hikers," Dean told her. He shrugged. "If we need to, we'll come back."

Jo wasn't completely satisfied with the plan of action, but didn't have any better ideas, so she let it drop.

xxxx

It had been late by the time Jo had gotten to bed. Laundry and adrenaline and simple joy had kept the whole family up and wired way past what Jo considered a reasonable hour. Tommy had dozed off earlier in the evening and been herded up the stairs by Sam in an attempt to avoid an exhausted temper tantrum at being the only one sent to bed. Jo suspected that Sam had actually lain down with Tommy because Sam didn't come downstairs until almost an hour later, the back of his head rumpled. blinking drowsily.

He was too old again for her to suggest he go on to bed, so she forced herself not to say anything when he dropped back onto the couch next to his brother, accepting Dean's mocking, yet somehow indulgent, smoothing of his hair with an sleepy huff of air and a flapping hand.

Tired as she was, Jo still had a hard time getting to sleep, keyed up at having everyone home and safe. Unable to settle, she finally gave up and headed downstairs, deciding to see if some leftovers would help her calm down.

Making her way down the hall, she heard muffled voices in her nephews' room—the sound of Jake's low laugh and Michael's answering murmur.

"Boys."

She stood just inside the doorway. They were on their backs in Michael's bed, stretched out long on the double mattress. Arms behind their heads, they were hard to tell apart in the darkness—almost of a length, identical poses.

"It's after two," she said quietly. Tommy was a motionless lump in the top bunk.

The figure nearest the door did a roll off the bed, landing awkwardly on all fours. The other boy, Michael she saw now, flopped onto his stomach, reaching out to thump his brother on the shoulder over the side of the bed, peering down at him in the darkness.

"Klutz," he murmured, the grin in his voice. He looked up at his aunt.

"Sorry, Aunt Jo," he whispered.

She smiled at him as Jake staggered, grumbling, to his feet, aiming for his own bed. Jo followed him toward the bunks, standing on tiptoe to check on Tommy, bending down to finish tucking Jake in.

"Good-night, sweetie." She kissed him on the forehead.

"Night," he mumbled sleepily, turning over.

Carefully, she picked her way over to Michael's bed, making something of a show of tucking him in, too. She didn't get to do this with him any more, and in the dim light, she could see the flash of his teeth as he laughed silently at her. Leaning over, she kissed him on the cheek.

"He's missed you," she said softly, taking a moment to run a hand over his head.

He made a sound that might have been acceptance of her comment. Or dismissal. It was hard to tell the difference sometimes.

"Night, mom."

"Night, baby."

xxxx

Over the next few days, the whole family—Dean and Sam included—re-adjusted to Sam being his normal size. Sam had been particularly amusing to watch as he'd gotten used to his longer limbs and bigger frame again. It had been kind of like watching a baby giraffe get its legs under it as Sam tripped over his feet and ran into doorways.

He had exhibited a certain coltish awkwardness the first couple of days, leftover energy and enthusiasm from being nine making him underestimate his height and width spectacularly several times.

"Sam. Just settle down for a little while, OK?"

He'd run into the sharp edge of a table for the third time, and she was seriously considering suggesting he take a nap he seemed so over-stimulated.

"Sorry," Sam said sheepishly, rubbing at his thigh where he'd hit the corner of the end table. He threw himself onto the couch—frustrated, but able to see the humor, too.

"Take a breath and stop running full tilt at everything," she scolded him gently.

He blew out an exasperated breath. "I don't mean to," he muttered.

She laughed at him.

"I know, sweetie."

"It's weird," he said thoughtfully as he got settled. "It's, like, I can't get completely used to not being a kid any more. I mean, most of the time, I remember. But sometimes the 9-year-old, like, sneaks up on me. If I'm not thinking about it." He cocked his head at her. "Does that make any sense?"

"Not really," she said with a smile.

He smiled back at her. "I guess not." He dropped his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out. "It's getting better," he said.

"Good," she said. "I'm starting to worry about your physical safety."

He grinned, not opening his eyes.

"You know the weirdest part?" he asked.

"No."

"I still _feel_ nine sometimes." He raised his head to look at her. "Like…"

He stopped, and she waited.

"I get…nervous when Dean's not around sometimes." He was watching her hesitantly.

"Well." She wanted to reassure him. "Isn't that kind of normal? I mean, given what y'all do. It doesn't seem strange to me that you'd worry if you weren't sure where your brother was." She knew she did.

Sam bit his lip. "No, it's not…. It's more than nervous. It's… I get scared. Like, frightened, that he's not there. Like something's going to get me… if Dean's not there…."

_Oh._

"I hate it," he whispered, eyes skittering away.

She wasn't sure what to say.

"Is that getting better?" she finally asked.

Sam nodded, eyes not meeting hers. "Yeah."

"OK." She sat down on the edge of the couch next to him. "It doesn't seem like it's going to be permanent, then, right?"

Sam shrugged.

"I think you need to give yourself a break, sweetheart," she said. "You're still dealing with the ramifications – physical and emotional – of what happened. It isn't weird to me that there are some residual feelings there. You just spent a month as a little boy, and …"

"But I wasn't scared like this when I was little," he interrupted her. She could hear the hint of desperation in his voice.

"Well," she said carefully. "Maybe some of this insecurity is your adult-self recognizing something your child-self really couldn't—just how vulnerable you were." She looked over at him. "As a child you knew implicitly that Dean would protect you and that made you feel safe, invulnerable, because you trusted Dean to take care of you. But as a grown-up, you… you recognize that vulnerability and the 9-year-old you that's still hanging around feels it sometimes and wants his big brother?"

She ended on a question because she really had _no_ idea what she was talking about. "Does that make sense?" Because she wasn't sure it did.

He smiled slightly to have the question asked back at him and nodded. "Yeah, I guess maybe it does."

_Really? OK._

She fumbled on. "I'm sure that, eventually, you'll absorb the reality that you aren't that child any more, that you aren't exposed or unprotected. That you can defend yourself. And that Dean will _still_ always be there to protect you, too."

She tried to smile comfortingly at him and paused for a moment to see how he took that. When he seemed accept it, she patted him on the knee and stood.

"Now, I'm going to set the timer for 30 minutes, and you aren't to get up from that sofa until it goes off." She gave him a mock severe look. "Do you understand me, young man?"

"Yes, ma'am."

xxxx


	11. Chapter 11

_Changes__, ch. 11_

Sam was out of bed and reaching for Dean's covers before he even realized what he was doing.

He stopped, jerking his hand away and taking a stumbling step back from his brother's bed.

_Crap_. _CrapcrapcrapCRAP!_

Heart still racing from the nightmare, it was all Sam could do not to act on his fear by seeking the safety of Dean's warmth and solid presence, burrowing under the quilt with his big brother like he'd been able to do just days ago.

But Sam wasn't nine anymore. And if the emotions of that age were still catching him by surprise at odd times, he couldn't—he _wouldn't_—at 24, let himself be overwhelmed. So he deliberately turned, forcing himself out of the room. Away from his brother.

Frustrated with himself, Sam stalked to the bathroom, splashing water on his face, hoping the bright light and cheery wallpaper would do their work and chase some of the shadows out of his mind. He sighed, staring at himself in the mirror. Still a little shaky, but steadier than he had been, Sam headed toward the kitchen.

_Coffee better help_, he thought grimly.

It was just 5:20, but Sam was not surprised that there was already activity in the kitchen. He heard the murmur of voices, Jo and Luke up and about their days. He hesitated in the doorway.

"Sammy."

Jo's voice, pleased and welcoming, pulled him into the room, and he smiled in response to her slight grimace at having called him by the nickname.

"'s OK," he said. "I guess y'all earned it."

Luke laughed, handing Sam a mug of coffee from where he leaned against the counter next to his wife. "You might not want to tell the boys that," he said.

Sam snorted and eased into a chair at the table. "Yeah," he agreed.

It was too late, though, really. "Sammy" was the only thing Tommy seemed able to call him these days. And if Jake always said it with a smirk, Sam thought maybe he deserved it considering the grief he'd given the kid while he was little. For a while at least.

"You're up early," Jo said, adding more eggs to the bowl she was stirring. Her eyes when they caught his were shrewd.

He lifted a shoulder in response.

"Nightmare?" Luke picked up where Jo had left off, pulling out his own chair to sit next to Sam.

The thing, Sam thought ruefully, about being nine around people was that they took it for permission to ask questions they might not have before. And he knew he hadn't discouraged that assumption by pouring his guts out to both Luke and Jo on several occasions—even before he'd been a child in their house. Sam bit his lip. He shrugged again.

Luke raised an eyebrow at him.

Sam sighed. For all the fact that he liked and needed to talk about his feelings, Sam just wasn't used to having people _ask_. Dean did on occasion, but usually only under extreme provocation—like dead girlfriends. This kind of casual inquiry made Sam feel oddly exposed.

Besides. Did he really want to admit out loud—even to Jo and Luke—that he'd almost climbed into bed with his big brother because he'd had a bad dream?

He concentrated on his coffee, trying to ignore the patient, inquiring looks from Jo and Luke. But after a pause, apparently unable to help himself, Sam muttered, "Yeah. Weird dream."

Jo spooned eggs onto his plate and Luke's. She watched him sympathetically as he picked up his fork and started to move the food around aimlessly on his plate.

"Did you want Dean?" she asked gently, brushing a hand over his hair. Sam closed his eyes. _Damn it._

"Yeah," he whispered, humiliated. Then he snorted. He opened his eyes to look at Jo, avoiding Luke's gaze. "I was almost in bed with him before I realized what I was doing," he admitted in a rush. "How pathetic is that?"

Sam couldn't help the bitterness in his voice, and he flicked a quick look at Luke, weighing the man's response.

There was a moment of silence.

"Give yourself some time, Sam." Luke's voice was non-judgmental, and he hadn't used _Sammy_. "Things'll settle." Echoing Jo.

Sam's eyes finally met Luke's, and the other man smiled. "Have you talked to Dean about this?"

Sam laughed out loud. "Right."

"You should," Jo said softly.

"You know what Dean will say, don't you, if I try to talk about my feelings?" Sam was incredulous.

It was Jo's turn to shrug. "You weren't the only one who had to deal with you being young and vulnerable again, honey. I just think there may have been some fallout from that for your brother, as well."

Sam widened his eyes at Jo, wondering if Dean had said anything to her.

"Has he…?"

Jo shook her head.

"Not really. No. But he missed you. And hated that you didn't feel safe with him."

Sam blinked.

"But, I did. I…"

He trailed off.

He hadn't, though, had he? Not at first. Not when Dean was a stranger, and all he had wanted was Dad.

_Dad_.

Sam swallowed at the sudden, familiar-again ache.

He'd forgotten. Forgotten in the wake of years of anger and frustration how much he'd idolized his father when he'd been a child. Thought Dad could _do_ anything, _knew_ everything. Forgotten that feeling of security and protection only Dad had been able to provide, no matter how hard Dean had tried. Safety and comfort that, even as an adult, he'd looked for—without _thinking_—from his father.

_Dad's not here, Dean._

Strange new abilities, terrified and unsure, needing what Max had not had.

_Dad will know what to do. _

Dean dying, a reaper after him, running to his father.

_Dad_. _Dad._

Dean had never tried to be Dad. He'd taken care of Sam, of course, but he'd been a child himself and shared those same convictions Sam had—Dad knows, Dad can do it—had made it his mission to instill those beliefs in his little brother. And Dean had succeeded, at least for awhile.

But Sam had rejected that faith, turned his back on all that his father had represented to them both as children. Had walked away from his family, run toward "normal."

And now Sam wondered if he'd ever truly felt safe after he'd left.

Oh, he'd never felt physically unprotected, not really. He'd been trained well and by a Marine, after all. But even in the midst of his relationship with Jess, for all the peace and comfort and normal she'd given him, he wasn't positive he'd ever had that bone-deep, unshakable sense of _safe_ he'd had with his father and his brother.

His drive to find their father after that horrible, horrifying night had been partially the need to be part of the fight, to kill the thing that had destroyed his life. But it had also been the simple need for _Dad_—his knowledge, his strength, his _presence_—to make things right again. Somehow.

But they hadn't been able to find him—he'd had been elusive, frustrating, autocratic. _Dad_. And Sam had felt his control slipping, felt the rage and the grief spiraling him into a darkness and obsession that would rival his father's.

_As long as I'm around, nothin' bad's gonna happen to you._

But there had been Dean.

Pulling him back from the edge, poking at him, putting him back together. And always, always protecting him. Dean who had slowly begun to restore Sam's sense of who he was; Dean who had shown him again what it meant to be safe.

Sam felt his throat close up.

Because if he'd forgotten his first love for Dad, he'd also forgotten that first love for Dean—a worship that bordered on idolatry of the big brother who had watched out for him and loved him in ways that their father hadn't always been able to. Dean who had, in the most important ways, always been home.

It was a revelation to have relived that adoration, to have experienced it again in all its wonder and innocence and power. To remember it so _viscerally_ now. He wanted—he _needed_—to figure out how that translated into his relationship with Dean as an adult. How to show his stubborn, stoic, wounded brother that love again. Without actually saying the words.

And for the first time Sam wondered what it had been like for Dean, for Sam to be little, defenseless. To be burdened again by the care of his little brother, but this time with all the sensibilities and understanding of an adult. Without Dad's back-up, having to bear that load on his own.

Whatever his brother had felt, Dean had never let Sam-the-child see anything except unwavering devotion and a steadiness that Sam had craved, but never really felt, in his relationship with his father. And in spite of missing his dad and grieving that loss, Sam wasn't sure but that the weeks as a child with an adult-Dean hadn't been some of the happiest—the most secure—he could ever remember.

He…

Sam shook himself, looking up at Jo and Luke, who had let him drift without interruption. But they were both watching him curiously.

"I'll talk to him," he agreed quietly.

xxxx

"Hey."

Dean was stretched out under the Impala, giving her a tune-up, ready to get on the road.

His boots twitched at the sound of Sam's voice.

"Hey." Muffled under the car.

Sam sat down with his back against the car, not in a hurry.

It was probably 20 minutes before Dean shoved himself out from under the car. He raised an eyebrow at his little brother. Sam had opened his eyes at the sound of Dean sliding along the gravel, but he didn't raise his head from where it rested against the car. He tilted his face to look at his brother when Dean stood.

"What's up?" Dean asked, wiping his hands on a dirty rag he'd pulled out of his pocket. There were smudges of grease on his chin and over his left eyebrow.

"Nothin'." Sam closed his eyes again.

He couldn't see it, but he knew Dean was studying him, could imagine the shrug as he heard his brother's footsteps move away from him.

Sam continued to sit and then startled when something cold and wet fell on his face. He opened his eyes to see Dean holding a beer over his head, condensation dripping off the glass. He huffed out a breath as he reached up to wipe the water off his nose and then for the bottle his brother offered him.

"Thanks."

Dean dropped down next to him, tipping the beer into his mouth, swallowing it in great, thirsty gulps.

Sam followed suit. It was hot out here.

"She ready to go?"

Dean wiped his mouth and shot a glace at his brother.

"Yep," he answered. He was watching Sam closely. "You about ready to hit the road?" Even though he hadn't said anything to Dean about it, Sam knew that his brother suspected he was still struggling some with what had happened. "Ellen called. She's got some jobs."

Sam shrugged. "Whenever you are."

Dean paused before he said, "Tomorrow then?"

"Sure."

Dean nodded.

After a couple of minutes, Sam said, "Hey, Dean?"

"Hmm?" Dean's eyes were closed, and he looked comfortably relaxed.

"Thanks for, you know, taking care of me while I was little." He tried to say it as matter-of-factly as possible, not wanting to make a big deal of it, because he knew Dean would hate that.

Dean didn't even open his eyes, and the ghost of a smile touched his face.

"What was I gonna do, Sammy? Make you fend for yourself when you were just a kid?"

He turned his head toward Sam, eyes opening now to watch his brother lazily. Sam quirked a smile at him.

"No, but…" Now Sam grinned, teasing. "You didn't have to rub my back and help me with my bath and let me sleep with you when I was scared." He couldn't help the laugh at the surrealness of it all.

Dean flushed bright red.

"Shut up," he muttered.

"No, seriously, man. I'm touched."

And he was. Unaccountably and deeply. Sam sobered instantly.

But Dean was scowling, ignoring him.

Sam cursed himself. This hadn't been what he'd meant to do.

"Dean." He bumped his shoulder gently against his brother's. _Don't be mad._

"Go to hell, Sam."

Sam blinked.

Dean stood abruptly, pushing off from the car, and Sam scrambled to his feet, finding himself almost running to catch up with Dean who was striding determinedly away.

"Dean, wait." He reached out to catch his brother's arm and then stumbled back when Dean rounded on him. Sam threw his hands up in a placating gesture, startled by the emotion on Dean's face—hurt and embarrassment and anger.

"Dean, please." Sam could hear the tremor in his voice, and he was dropped into 9-year-old Sammy so suddenly he almost staggered. Fear and desperation that Dean was unhappy with him.

Dean's face changed at the tone of Sam's voice, eyes narrowed, not sure.

"Leave me alone, Sam."

"Dean." Sam forced himself not to overreact, drew in a deep breath, tamping down the panic at Dean's displeasure. "Listen, I'm sorry."

Dean gave him a blank look and turned away. "Fine, Sam. Whatever."

"Just listen. Please." And while he felt the control that had slipped from him for a moment shift back into place, Sam let the pleading tone stay in his voice, knowing that Dean rarely ignored it.

And he didn't this time either. Dean stopped, though he stayed facing in the opposite direction.

"Dean, I meant it when I said, 'thank you.' I… Everything you did—_everything_— helped me know that you were you and that I could trust you." Dean's stance had shifted, and Sam could tell that his brother was listening to him. "I didn't mean to laugh. I wasn't making fun. I wasn't." The desperation was back in voice. He had to make Dean understand. "I just got, I don't know, overwhelmed I guess. You did so much. So much I remember from when we were kids that made me feel…safe, you know? When dad wasn't there, and I was afraid. It's just so weird to be an adult and remember all this stuff you did for me as a kid except that it was only a few days ago. And you'd never do any of that stuff now, but you did it for me when I was little, and it's bizarre. And I…."

Dean had turned to face his brother, watching him with an expression Sam couldn't decipher.

Sam stopped talking.

"OK," Dean said.

Sam studied his brother's face, trying to read what was there.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Dean said it easily, face softening at the anxiousness on his brother's. Sam let go of the breath, he'd been holding.

They stood there awkwardly for a minute before Dean reached out and clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Help me clean up," he said.

Together they gathered up tools and trash, mostly quiet. But it was a comfortable silence that Sam didn't feel any compulsion to break. When they were finished, they each grabbed another beer and sat on the curb watching cars go by on the highway.

"It was weird, you know?" Dean said suddenly, softly.

Sam turned to look at his brother. Dean was staring into the distance, face still in a way that made Sam's breath catch in his throat. He recognized that Dean was trying to give him something he knew Sam needed, even while he wasn't ready to talk about it yet.

Sam nodded, turning his own gaze to the horizon. "Yeah," he whispered.

And they sat side-by-side in silence until Jo called them in for supper.

xxxx

Sam made a soft noise in his sleep, and Dean tensed waiting to see if his brother woke. There was a moment of hanging silence before Sam muttered what sounded disturbingly like, "No. Not the gerbils" and threw himself over onto his stomach with a muffled snort.

In his own bed, Dean smothered a groan and rolled away from Sam.

He couldn't sleep. The conversation – one-sided as it had been – with Sam that afternoon kept replaying itself in his head, and he couldn't seem to turn it off.

Dean had not been prepared for the stab of hurt—betrayal, really—he'd felt when Sam had laughed as he'd thanked Dean for caring for him while he'd been small. Not ready for the feelings of rejection (again) and fury in the wake of Sam's quiet laugh.

It had been like Sam was mocking him for all the energy and emotion Dean had poured into trying to make sure that his little brother felt safe while he'd been small. And for a minute it had been Sam leaving for Stanford all over again. Because while he'd missed adult-Sam like he'd lost part of _himself_ those weeks his brother had been a child, Dean had to admit – if only at night, in the dark, to himself – that Sam as a little boy, crawling into bed with him, sitting close, even slipping his small hand into Dean's had touched Dean in ways that had shaken him.

It had been so long since either of them had been comfortable expressing affection as easily as they had while Sam had been small. When Sam had been a baby, and Dean himself just a little boy, it had happened all the time—soothing Sammy (himself) by holding his brother or just being close. But they'd been boys, and as Dean had grown, and more so as Sam had come into his own, all that had stopped except in extreme circumstances. Affection had mostly been expressed in cuffs and wrestling and put-downs.

But even that had stopped as Sam had gotten increasingly unhappy as a teenager. The insults had stopped being teasing and taken on an edge that had hurt like hell. And Dean had responded with jabs of his own until, by the time Sam stormed out of the house, Dean wasn't sure he even liked his little brother. Sam had certainly left no room for misinterpretation of his own feelings for Dean.

The silence that had followed Sam's departure had been echoing, and though he'd tried to reach out a couple of times, the resentment on both sides had been too thick to struggle through By the time Sam stopped responding to his calls, Dean was more than willing to let it go. Not that it hadn't stung. But he'd found that focusing on his anger had helped.

It wasn't that Dean had ever really doubted Sam's love for him. Or Dad for that matter. The Winchesters might not talk about love, but they trusted it in each other.

Dean just hadn't realized how much he'd missed the physical expression of that love. Until he'd had it again. Even for a short time.

Dean believed Sam's stumbling explanation for the laughter. The whole situation _was_ surreal. And Dean was a little embarrassed that he'd flown off the handle so quickly and completely. He was grateful that Sam hadn't thought to—or had restrained himself from—pointing out Dean's hissy fit.

It wasn't that Dean wanted Sam cuddling up to him as an adult or holding his hand or crawling into bed with him—he shuddered at the thought. But Dean couldn't help wondering what it _would_ look like to keep some of that closeness with Sam grown again.

In the bed next to him, Dean heard Sam gasp and fight with the covers as he came awake with a start. He could hear his brother's panting breaths, and he rolled back toward Sam.

"You OK?" he asked quietly, not wanting to startle.

Sam gulped audibly. "Yeah," he rasped.

Dean saw Sam swing his legs off the bed and wondered uncertainly what Sam was going to do. But Sam just sat on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, hands gripping the edge of the mattress. His head hung, chin almost on his chest.

Dean sat up.

"You want the light on?"

Just the month before Dean knew he wouldn't even have acknowledged that he'd been awake, would have told himself that he was respecting Sam's "privacy" by ignoring him.

Sam's head came up, and Dean could see his brother's eyes blinking dazedly at him.

"Is that OK?" Sam whispered.

And six weeks ago Sam wouldn't have responded, even if Dean had asked, just gone into the bathroom and closed the door.

In answer, Dean reached over and flipped on the lamp between the beds.

"Bad one," Dean said steadily after a long pause of silence.

Sam nodded, but Dean could see that his face was starting to clear, and his breathing had evened out. Sliding back in the bed, Sam eased against the headboard. Dean did the same in his own bed.

"Anything we need to be worried about?"

Sam shook his head, bringing up his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He breathed out an unsteady gust of air. Then he laughed.

"Naw. Just a normal nightmare." He looked over at Dean with a slight smile. "Thanks, though."

"Normal, huh?" Dean couldn't help the smirk and Sam snorted.

"Yeah. Who knew?"

Dean was quiet for a beat then, "Giant rodents?"

Sam's head turned so sharply he got a crick in his neck, yelping, shoulders hunching and a hand coming up reflexively to knead at the twinge.

Dean grimaced in sympathy and explained, "You were muttering about gerbils earlier."

Sam shot Dean an almost shame-faced look.

"Where d'you think I would've gotten gerbils?"

Sam slunk down in the bed, fingers still rubbing at the pain in his neck as he curled onto his side. He blinked sleepily at his brother.

Dean could see that the residual fear had faded from Sam's face and did the same, rolling to face Sam.

"Dunno," he yawned. "Y'OK?"

"Mmmm," Sam mumbled, eyes slipping closed. "Light?"

Dean grunted drowsily in annoyance, hand fumbling under the shade. Finally found the switch and twisted it off.

"Ni'."

Sam was almost asleep again, and Dean himself barely registered the sound.

"Mmm," he responded, drifting off easily with a sigh.

xxxx

It never ceased to amaze Jo how much it still surprised her when Dean and Sam announced they'd be hitting the road. Like every time they came, she expected them to stay forever.

They'd actually ended up staying a couple of days longer than Dean had originally announced. A call from Bobby had eased some of the urgency in their departure. Jo hadn't asked any questions, just been grateful for more time.

Jo wasn't sure what had happened, but there had been a shift in the relationship between the two boys. They were more comfortable with each other than Jo thought she'd ever seen them. As obvious as it had always been that they loved each other fiercely, there'd also always been a prickliness in the way they interacted with one another that seemed to have disappeared.

It wasn't so much a change in the words they said to each other – no declarations (as far as she knew) of love and understanding. They still threw barbs at each other, mocking and teasing, but there was difference in the tone with which the insults were hurled and received. A gentleness, an awareness, that hadn't always been there before.

Even their body language was different. The stiffness, the rigidity with which they held themselves, especially Dean, around each other was gone. Jo thought that Dean had always seemed braced when he was around Sam – ready to protect his brother, she saw that, but to protect himself, as well. And Sam had always held himself taut, poised to respond to whatever move his brother made – ready to give chase, whether physically or emotionally, to maneuver his brother, to push away or back. They'd both been constantly on the defensive, whether they'd realized it or not. Jo wasn't sure she'd even realized it until it had changed. Only seeing them completely relaxed around each other had made her recognize how _not_ relaxed they'd been before.

She suspected that Sam and Dean had had the Winchester version of a "talk." (Whatever that meant. She wondered vaguely if punches had been thrown.) And that the result of that expression of love or appreciation or support, however that had been shown (Name-calling? Head-locks?), was this easing of tension.

Jo had an unexpected vision of the Winchester boys telling each other how much they loved each other. And then hugging. A startled laugh escaped her and she got a questioning look from Dean who was slumped on the couch with a dozing Sam watching television. She bit back her smile and shook her head at him. He shrugged.

Declarations of love came in all manner of expression; she knew that from experience. Of her own three boys, Michael was the most verbal, telling people easily that he loved them – her, his brothers, Luke; Tommy was the most physical, a cuddler and a hand holder; and Jake was the most… subtle.

Well, not really subtle, not once you recognized the signs. Jake only spoke the words, "I love you" if pressed, and hugged only under protest. It had taken Jo almost a year of the boys' living with her before she'd deciphered her middle nephew's love language. She'd been afraid that the quiet, still child might never break out of the shell he'd retreated into after his parents' death, worried that he might forever protect himself from loving, from being loved, and she'd grieved as she'd watched him, not sure how to help.

The turning point had been one day in the spring when he'd brought her a crumpled bouquet of wild-flowers after school.

"I didn't pick any Bluebonnets," he'd told her gravely as he'd pressed the battered offering into her startled hands.

Jo had blinked.

"They're beautiful, sweetie," she'd smiled and been rewarded with a fleeting upturning of the corners of his mouth before he'd wandered off.

That night he'd followed her around the kitchen, fetching whatever she asked for and putting away jars when she was finished with them as she made supper. It hadn't been the first time he'd done that, but for whatever reason the flowers had changed her perspective on what she'd taken for granted up until then. Jake was always the one who appeared at her elbow when she was folding clothes or cleaning the bathroom, silently picking up a shirt to fold as she shook out a pair of pants or scrubbing out the toilet while she wiped down the sink.

Jake had been telling her he loved her for months, and she just hadn't recognized it. It had made her feel sick to her stomach. She'd been so unsure of how he felt about her, that without realizing it, she'd been hesitant with him, holding herself apart in a hundred different ways. Fearing, even as an adult, rejection from this child she loved.

"Jakey?" She'd swallowed back the guilt and sat down at one of the kitchen chairs, pulling him close when he'd turned his attention on her. She'd reached out a hand to cup his cheek. "Thank you so much for the flowers. And for all your help tonight. You've made getting ready for dinner so much easier."

Jake had blushed, and dropped his eyes, shrugging slightly for a reply.

She'd wrapped her arms around him and given the stiff little body a fierce squeeze, planting a sloppy, noisy kiss on his cheek. She'd felt her heart lighten when he'd given a startled giggle and relaxed against her.

"I love you," she'd said into his ear before she blew a loud raspberry against his soft neck, making him laugh breathlessly and squirm. After one last tightening of the embrace, she'd let him go, now not expecting a return of the words. Her eyes had stung when what he'd given her in return instead was the first full smile she'd seen from him in a long time.

It had broken her heart that she'd missed what he'd been telling her for months, that in some ways she'd been rejecting those offering of love. But now she knew. And she wouldn't make the same mistake again.

It had changed everything between them. Until Jake had turned 14. When everything had shifted again. And there had been different mistakes to make.

Now, Jo thought she saw the same thing with the Winchesters.

Whatever had passed between them had given both boys a confidence in their relationship that Jo hoped would last for a long time.

"Jo?"

Sam's question made her look again toward the sofa. He was stretched out on his side along the length of the couch, blindly using one foot to poke at Dean who was rolling his eyes as he slapped at Sam's long leg, ducking and swaying to avoid a toe in his ear.

"Can we- OW!" He flailed, jerking his legs out of reach of his brother, who had managed to capture a foot and dig his thumb painfully into Sam's instep.

"Keep you enormous, Big Foot feet out of my space, freak," Dean said blandly, raising his arm to lay it across the back of the couch.

Sam's foot shot out so fast Jo missed it until she heard Dean's yelp when it connected with his ribs. Just as quickly, Dean's hand grabbed Sam's knee, squeezing, and Sam bolted upright, already reaching… and Jo realized that this was about to escalate to a level that might damage furniture.

"STOP!" she bellowed, startling both Winchesters into stillness. They eyed her warily.

"Sam, honey, what were you going to say?" she asked as if nothing had happened.

"Oh, um," he was frozen with one arm outstretched. "Could we make cookies tonight? For the road tomorrow?"

She smiled serenely at him as she rose. "Of course, we can." She headed for the kitchen. "If you're going to continue that, take it outside," she added without looking back.

There was a moment of quiet before she heard the muffled sound of a slap, followed by an outraged cry from Sam that was replaced by Dean's laughter and scrambling clatters and pounding bare feet on hard wood. The slamming front door echoed through the house and muted shouts and laughter drifted into the kitchen as she watched them race past the window.

She was going to miss them when they were gone.

xxxx

_End._


End file.
